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

by Linore Rose Burkard

  She forced her mind to calm down, and, when indignation threatened to rise up, decided to pray for them. She’d always found that praying for those who aggravated her lessened their power to do so—and helped her forgive.

  She prayed that she and the servants would get on agreeably. That Mr. Mornay, whatever he was doing, was safe and sound. That she would find Mr. O’Brien on his way to recovery and not in mortal danger.

  The drive went fast, and soon she was alighting in Blandford Street with the two footmen around her like a king’s guard. As she approached the front door, she wondered briefly what had prevented Lavinia from coming to her. Then the door was opened by an aged manservant who took her card and welcomed her inside.

  Ariana hoped she would see Beatrice while she was here. The servants she would worry about another time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lord Antoine slowed the horses and drew his curricle to the curb. A smiling Miss Herley was much restored from her ordeal, but her smile faltered. She was home, and she was happy to be home, but it meant having to say goodbye to Antoine.

  The young man climbed down, tied the horses to a post on the street, and then came around and handed Lavinia down. They eyed each other a moment. She smiled shyly.

  “My parents will be surprised that I am returned home.”

  “I hope you will tell them that I helped bring you back.”

  “Yes, they must know of it!”

  They were slowly moving towards the front door of Lavinia’s house, looking at each other very wistfully as they spoke.

  “Do you think, perhaps, they may allow me to call upon you?”

  “I’m sure when they comprehend just how central you have been to my safe return, they cannot do otherwise but welcome you.”

  “I hope you are right,” he said, awkwardly. They had reached the door.

  Lavinia turned and, lifting the knocker, rapped it firmly two times against the wood of the door. It was late afternoon—her nightmare had lasted less than one day, but it felt much longer. She glanced at her companion and then away again and then back. She was desperately hoping he’d say something more, something that would sound like marriage intentions.

  When noises from within indicated that time was short, something in Lord Antoine’s brain clicked. He grasped her hand. “My dear Miss Herley—Lavinia! Know that you are in my heart. When I can offer you a comfortable arrangement as my...”

  She held her breath. He was about to offer for her! But the door latch was opened, and it creaked and swung wide. And there was the family servant, Hobbes, looking at the pair.

  Lord Antoine bowed slowly and walked away. “God bless you!” were his last words.

  Lavinia watched him go with full eyes and much regret. She hoped he would call upon her soon. She had asked him to go to Hanover Square to give news of her safe return, and then Grosvenor Square. Mrs. Bentley and Ariana must be wild with worry on her account. Antoine was so good to allay their fears by calling upon them! She hoped that Mrs. Bentley would not be too distraught that she had not been able to serve as chaperon—but what could she do? After the fright of her abduction, she simply had to return home.

  Around four-thirty in the afternoon, there was a knock at the door at Hanover Square, and when Haines opened it to a young man of dubious appearance (shabby genteel, at best), he said nothing but merely raised his brow at the man.

  “I must see Mrs. Bentley,” he said. “I have a message for her from Miss Herley.”

  This statement earned him an immediate entrance to the house, where he was told to wait in the hall. Did he have a card? No, but he gave his name, Lord Antoine Holliwell. Realizing Mrs. Bentley was asleep, Haines went directly to the man appointed by the local constable, who was in the kitchens at the moment, eating heartily, having hit it off famously with Cook.

  When he gave the name of the young man, the officer stopped eating abruptly, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and sprang to his feet.

  “The blackguard himself! Come to demand a ransom, no doubt!” The man cocked his weapon, spoke some words into Haines’s ear, and then the men proceeded cautiously back towards the young lord, who was waiting with no clue of what was coming.

  Haines assembled a few of the footmen and gave instruction to rush round the house to block the front entrance—Holliwell’s only means of escape. In minutes they had him in custody.

  He protested violently, but he was outnumbered and handcuffed.

  “Miss Herley is safe at her house!” he cried. “I brought her there myself!”

  “Indeed! After abducting her? You’ll tell it to the magistrate, sir!”

  “This is deuced unfair!” he said. “I came at Miss Herley’s request, to inform Mrs. Bentley of her friend’s safety! Am I to be treated as a criminal? When I am the one who saved her?”

  The butler and the officer looked at each other. Neither man believed him.

  “You knew where she was to save her. I call that convenient.” This was said dryly, by the official.

  “Ask Miss Herley!” he cried. “Ask Mr. Chesley! They will verify my innocence in this matter!”

  The officer said to Haines, “Send word to Grosvenor Square, will you? Mr. Mornay will wish to know that I have one of the trouble-making pair in custody.”

  “Why, Miss Forsythe!” Mrs. O’Brien sounded much surprised. “I never dreamed of seeing you out and about. My son told us what happened last night. My poor girl, you must be dreadfully fagged!”

  “I am sure I feel far better than your son, ma’am,” she answered, smiling gently. Her expression changed to one of concern. “How badly is Mr. O’Brien injured? I am aware of how unusual it is to call upon a gentleman, but my sister is staying here, and I had to know his condition. I am fully conscious of the fact that his injury was sustained on my account.”

  “Oh, my child, not at all. Peter has confessed his foolishness to me, and I am convinced you are the last person in the world who can be blamed in the matter.”

  “You are very kind.”

  Mrs. O’Brien smiled and led Ariana towards the stairs, saying, “His wound is rather severe, but it is well dressed and the doctor assures us that with proper rest and by following a strict regimen he will be fine in time.”

  “A strict regimen?”

  “Blood-letting, and changing the dressing. To encourage the noxious elements that may have contaminated his blood to come out, you know.” She stopped and turned to face her guest.

  She lowered her voice. “We said nothing to your sister about your abduction, knowing how frightfully upsetting such news would have been. We told her Mr. O’Brien sustained an injury trying to put a stop to fighting on the street.”

  “That was thoughtful of you, thank you. Now that I’m safe and sound I suppose we can tell her the truth.”

  “Yes, but I sent her and Alice out with Miss O’Brien for the day. They are to take in some shopping, and visit a park or garden. I thought it would be beneficial for Mr. O’Brien to have quiet at home.”

  “Of course.” Ariana hoped that what she would see of Mr. O’Brien would help relieve her fears for him, not exacerbate them. They reached the first floor drawing room where the invalid was resting comfortably, propped in a half-prone position on a sofa, with many pillows and blankets cocooning him. His head was wrapped in cloths, giving him the appearance of a wounded soldier. Hair hung limply beneath the dressing. His face was pale and eyes closed. He looked sadly frail.

  “My dear, you have a visitor,” said his mother. His eyes fluttered open.

  “Miss Forsythe!” He gave a weak smile, and held out a hand.

  Ariana went and shook his hand. She put her reticule on a little table near his head. “Mr. O’Brien, I came to tell you how dreadfully sorry I am for your having taken such a nasty blow on my account.”

  “Oh, my dear Miss Forsythe,” he said, looking embarrassed. “When it was all my doing, and resulted in danger to your own person! I pray you, not another word about it. I am exceedingly
grateful that you are safe.”

  His voice was not at its usual strength, and she noted that he bore dark rings beneath his eyes. “You must know,” he said, with a bit of a twinkle in his eye, “that my mother and Miss O’Brien are attending to me handsomely. I feel as though I’ve reverted to childhood. You needn’t add any efforts to theirs, or I shall have no desire to recover whatsoever—being indisposed garners me the most felicitous female attention I can recall having the good fortune to receive.”

  She let out a little laugh. “I am sure you deserve and require it.”

  “Please, have a seat.” He took a cup of tea from his mother, though his hand seemed to shake a little, and then he eyed her again. “My mother took the notion into her head that she might have lost me.” He stopped and gave his mother a patient, affectionate look. “She was, I dare say, overly alarmed, and then the doctor added to her fears by insisting I was liable to catch my death, not from the wound itself, but from an infection.”

  “Oh, dear!” Ariana looked at Mrs. O’Brien in alarm.

  “Don’t be alarmed, Miss Forsythe,” Mr. O’Brien said, seeing her face fall. “I am young and strong and have every hope of recovering, I assure you. Indeed, I can expect nothing less because my heart tells me that God has work for me to do yet in this life.” He smiled.

  Mrs. O’Brien added, “We will know his prospects of a full recovery better tomorrow when Mr. Henderson returns and removes the bandaging.”

  “I see,” Ariana said.

  Mrs. O’Brien poured her tea, and she took a little sip. She tried to be cheerful, but kept looking sadly at Mr. O’Brien. Far from feeling reassured by this visit, her worries were stronger than ever. “Well; I shan’t stay and weary you, sir. You need your rest.”

  “Do not go,” he said quickly and tried to sit up but winced and put his hand to his head. She looked at him sorrowfully.

  Mrs. O’Brien said, “My son is glad of your company; I pray you, stay a bit longer. I warrant you are a tonic of health for him.”

  “Last night I was quite the opposite,” she said ruefully, but out of politeness she decided to stay a little longer. The parlourmaid came in and curtseyed. “Beggin’ yer pardon, mum; there’s a fine genelman at t’door t’see you, mum.”

  “Oh?” The mistress of the house looked in surprise at her son. “Are you expecting a gentleman friend of yours?”

  “No; I suppose it’s possible that word has spread of my injury, however.”

  The maid curtseyed again. “It’s you, mum, he be wantin’ to see.”

  “Indeed. Very well.” She looked at Ariana. “Excuse me, Miss Forsythe. I’ll be back directly.” But she hesitated and asked, “My dear, would you be so kind? He only needs you to hand him the cup; so that he doesn’t strain himself, reaching. The doctor insisted he wasn’t to strain himself at all.”

  “Oh, of course.” Ariana hurried from her seat and took the place where his mother had been, realizing belatedly that it would be awkward. Mr. O’Brien may have been injured, but he wasn’t helpless; yet how could she refuse to see to his comfort? She took the seat near the patient’s head. A little table had been pulled up so that everything was handy.

  “Would you be so kind?” he asked, with a nod at the cup of tea on the table.

  She handed him the tea cup. He took it, gratefully, taking a sip and giving it back momentarily. It was just about empty.

  “Shall I refill it for you?”

  “Please.”

  She poured him another cup from the teapot, and handed it to him carefully. He touched her hand on the cup as he took hold of it. Had it been an accident? Ariana was too embarrassed to say anything about it.

  After taking a good sip, he remarked, “Very good. Nice and hot.”

  Suddenly they were like strangers. It was their proximity, Ariana decided. She looked around and saw a book. “Shall I read to you?”

  He smiled. “I would enjoy that a great deal. You are very kind.”

  She stood up carefully so as not to disturb the table, and in a minute had come back with a dog-eared copy of Gulliver’s Travels. She stopped in her tracks, however, as she caught sight of the bandaging on the back of his head. There were deep bloodstains on it, and it set her heart pounding. She sat down and started reading from the page where the bookmark was.

  There were tears in her voice. It wasn’t just that Mr. O’Brien looked frail and sick. It was everything: her abduction, her rescue, his injury, the changes she’d ordered in the house that so far made only a great mess, the servants’ poor treatment of her, and, behind it all, the wedding. The biggest event to happen in her young life, growing so near. As happy as she was about it, there could be no doubt that it was just a bit nerve-wracking. She wished her mamma was with her.

  Meanwhile, Mrs. O’Brien reached the front hall, where there was indeed a fine gentleman standing. He was impatiently slapping one glove against his hand, and looking disinterestedly at a portrait on the wall.

  When he turned, Mrs. O’Brien, who was not easily disturbed, gasped in surprise.

  It was Mr. Mornay.

  Mr. O’Brien looked pitifully at Ariana. “I—I wish I hadn’t been so eager to believe your betrothed had required my help. I must admit that my...continued love for you moved me to do it. I cannot resist any excuse to be near you.”

  “Oh, do not, do not, speak of that, sir! I will leave you this instant if you persist!” To his look of penitence, she said, “I shall read to you.”

  Her nearness had startled Mr. O’Brien and caused his repressed love to awaken. He sensed how upset she was, and yet how solicitous of him. He studied her face, and could have held his breath. Miss Forsythe’s face, her beautiful face, was only a foot from his own. He froze for a moment, not wishing to change a thing.

  Her lips pursed prettily in concentration as she turned her attention to the book.

  Mrs. O’Brien’s hands clasped together nervously. “Mr. Mornay, this is quite the surprise! I beg you’ll forgive my servant for not seeing you to the parlour at once.”

  “That is of no matter,” he said, lightly. He had returned home to check on his future bride. He had not found Wingate when he followed the tall man, but a stranger. Fearing that his lordship may already have been in Mayfair to further his cause, he took himself back at once, but discovered his wayward girl had left the house despite his clear orders to the contrary. He was not in the best of moods.

  Mrs. O’Brien’s eyes grew wider with surprise—and wonder. Having heard from her son the full account of matters from the prior evening’s adventures, she had little thought to have seen this man in her house. Was he angry at her son? Was he there to call him to account? And more, did he know that his betrothed was at that moment in their parlour? How would he react when he found out?

  “Is Mr. O’Brien well enough to receive visitors?”

  At that exact moment it struck Mrs. O’Brien that the presence of Miss Forsythe in the parlour with her son was bound to further aggravate this man. She hesitated.

  “How is he faring?”

  She blinked at him. He was acting quite gentlemanlike. “He is comfortable, sir. We won’t know his prospects entirely until the doctor returns tomorrow. He’ll remove the bandages then and have a better idea, he says, of what’s to come.”

  He listened, nodding. “May I see him?”

  She blinked up at him, her mind moving quickly. There was no shame in Miss Forsythe having called under the circumstances. But would he see it in that light?

  “Actually, sir, my son has already received a visitor.” Here his look changed. He seemed to be weighing his words.

  “Yes?” He finally replied.

  “Miss Forsythe—” Mr. O’Brien pulled her from her reading.

  “Do you not like the book?” she asked.

  “No. I mean—that isn’t it.” He could stand it no longer and made to sit up, but of course his head ached instantly and he winced.

  “Do not sit up!” she chided, at the same ti
me pushing his shoulder back down gently with one hand. This was altogether too much for Mr. O’Brien, who, ignoring the explosion of pain in his head, clasped first her hand, then reached for her in a swift movement and pulled her about the middle, until she came right off her chair.

  “Come this way, sir. I daresay you are acquainted with the lady.”

  “I daresay.”

  Oh, dear, thought Mrs. O’Brien. Mr. Mornay knows that Miss Forsythe is here. As she led the way towards the staircase, she hoped he was not provoked by it. She would dread it if Miss Forsythe was to get a combing on her son’s account. But Mr. Mornay’s manner seemed mild, not formidable. That was something.

  In the parlour Ariana’s chair fell against the table, making the tea spill. With a cry of surprise, she was yanked from it and onto Mr. O’Brien. Just as suddenly as his move had been made, his mouth was upon hers. For a single second there was nothing but silence, and for Mr. O’Brien it was a blissful single second. But Ariana wrenched her head away, saying “For shame, Mr. O'Brien! You are incorrigible!”

  She pushed against him with eyes blazing with reproach. "Release me this instant!"

  He said, “Yes of course, I must,” and he looked as though he meant it, too, but instead he pulled her back for another kiss.

  The two people approaching the parlour heard the noise. A look of alarm flooded Mrs. O’Brien’s face as they rushed to the door and opened it. At first, they saw no one, and heard nothing. Mrs. O’Brien looked puzzled. But then there came a muffled sound, coming from the small circle of furniture, and then the top of Ariana’s head popped up and could be seen over the back of the settee which faced the door.