Mornay allowed himself to be carried along, for it was useless to protest, to a carriage where they finally hoisted him in with a jolly, “Heave Ho!”
Numerous men scrambled in after him. Alvanley jumped in and said, “Excellent! Well done, fellows! To Boodle’s, gentlemen, for the prince says he’ll join us. I’m all for getting foxed, tonight! Mornay is to be wed and we shall celebrate!”
“Huzzah!”
The coach began making its way from Pall Mall to St. Jame’s Street.
“What did Prinny say?” Brummell asked.
“He’s occupied for the next hour, but he wants us to keep 'Mr. Hickenbotham' here at Boodle’s until he arrives. Says he has the fullest sympathies for a man about to tie the knot and must endeavour to commiserate in style.”
“That isn’t what he said to me,” Phillip responded.
“Well, he could hardly say it to your face, now could he?” To the other men, he shouted, “He’ll help pay for the supper, gents!” Another round of huzzahs filled the air as they bounced along.
“Well, Mornay, glad you aren’t being a marplot.”
“I must send a note to Hanover Square, however.”
“Sure, sure, we’ll send a boy from Boodle’s. Your other half will understand.”
While they rounded the corner to St. James’s, Phillip remembered the last time he’d been pressganged by his friends into carousing with them. The last thing he needed was a repeat of that night. Besides, he would rather have been at Mrs. Bentley’s right now than with these men. By Jove, he would! He’d share a supper with them—and then extract himself and make it to Hanover Square. This was not going to be like the last episode.
This time, it was going to end his way.
Chapter Thirty-One
Mr. Timmon’s went to Grosvenor Square near ten-thirty that evening, disappointed not to have seen his host at Mrs. Bentley’s supper. He intended upon seeing him before retiring for the night, however, if it meant he had to stay up til dawn to do it.
Freddy installed the guest in the best parlour, surprised that he would not countenance seeing his bed until Mr. Mornay returned home. But Timmons felt strongly that he must clap eyes on the man. There must be some evidence of religion in a man’s life, he felt, if he were sincere. And since Mornay was marrying into the family of his dear friends the Forsythes, he’d not rest easy until he had seen and spoken to the gentleman.
Miss Forsythe had been concerned, he knew, when her betrothed failed to appear. It helped when a note arrived, written in his hand, explaining that he’d been enjoined to stay for supper at Boodle's by the Regent. The Forsythes were duly impressed, but not he, Mr. Timmons. He found himself wondering if it was to be a sign of a future pattern for the marriage. He became all the more determined to see Mr. Mornay.
The clock upon the mantel slowly moved to eleven o’clock, then midnight. Timmons dozed off. When he awoke, it was near two in the morning. Rather late for a man to be out on the eve of his wedding, he thought. But he shook the sleep from his eyes. He would wait to see Mornay if it took all night.
When Ariana’s eyes popped open, the sun was just peeking over the horizon—as much of a horizon as could be seen over neighboring rooftops, that is. But it was enough to cause her sleepy eyes to flitter awake, and she knew at once that she could never return to sleep. It was her wedding day
Her stomach was all aflutter. She rushed to the looking-glass. Was her complexion good today? Whew, it was! She rushed to the wardrobe to gaze at the new gown of white satin, silk, and opulent lace. There was a train of matching lace, and her gloves had a tiny lace edging at the elbows and along the seams to the wrists. Even her petticoat and chemise had lace trim. How seldom it excited her these days to wear a new gown, but this one was different! She could hardly contain herself, in fact, and she happily drew the satin shoes from their resting place in the closet just to look at them and assure herself that the day had truly arrived.
In a flurry of joy, she tugged on the bellpull. Oh, if all women felt this happy upon their wedding day, then every woman must get married! She gave another yank to the cord. Evidently the servants weren’t up yet, as no one answered the summons for minutes. By then, she was already prancing down the hall and knocking on everyone’s doors.
“Come, wake up! It’s my wedding day!”
She made a quick circuit of the bedchambers and then was doubling back again, when her aunt came to her doorway and peered out at her, blinking back sleep. “It’s your wedding day, yes, but I fail to see why that should give you the right to plunge the whole house into misery.”
“Misery? Oh, my dear Aunt!” She gave the old lady an effusive kiss on the cheek, much to Mrs. Bentley’s annoyance—she wasn’t prepared for familiarity before breakfast. But Ariana was oblivious. “No one must be miserable today! I want the whole world to be as happy as I am. And you, of all people must be especially happy.”
“I am happy, very happy for you, my dear.” And then she started. “Oh, my! I’d almost forgot! It’s my wedding day, too!”
Ariana laughed. “Precisely!” And with that, she went whirling back down the hallway, her light cotton robe fluttering like a gossamer wing behind her.
Mrs. Bentley returned to her bed. Oh, bother, she supposed she ought to get up. Her guests would need to be seen to, her menu checked on—and the servants were too apt to throw a monkey in the pot if she didn’t watch them. Reluctantly, she sat up and found her prayer book. Time for the morning’s reading.
Princess Charlotte was eager to attend Mr. Mornay’s wedding for, if her father was right, the Paragon might one day be one of her own advisers. She wished to groom him for the part no less than the Regent. Mornay might aspire to Prime Minister someday, for all they knew. He had twice the presence of most men and as much acumen, it seemed to her, as Perceval or Jenkinson.
Finally and perhaps most importantly, the Princess actually liked Miss Forsythe, sensing a true spirit in the girl, the sort she could trust. Most everyone wanted favours for return of friendship—it was an inevitable fact of being royal—but Mornay’s betrothed seemed the sort that would love one for oneself. The princess wished to nurture their acquaintance, therefore, and had prepared as a gift a minature portrait of herself, a copy of the original by Cosway, the noted miniaturist. It was not a costly gift but would convey her best intentions. Yes, today was her way of cementing what she hoped would be a long and lasting alliance with the soon-to-be Mr. And Mrs. Mornay.
When Mr. Timmons awoke that morning, he blinked a few times and sat up quickly. He’d fallen asleep again, dash it! Bad luck! He’d missed Mornay at his return. He collected himself and went looking for a servant—he never thought to reach for the bellpull. Seeing no one about, he descended to the ground floor and continued his search. Hearing movement, he went towards the sounds.
The ladies in the kitchen were busily at work when they looked up and saw a disheveled and bewildered-looking man staring in at them.
“Bless me!” cried Cook, with a hand to her heart. “An’ who might you be?”
“I am Mr. Timmons. A rector. Your master’s guest. I am looking for Mr. Mornay.”
“In the kitchens, sir?” The maids giggled.
“Which—which room is his? Could you be so
kind—”
“Wake the master? Oh, no, sir! I beg you; return to your chamber or the morning room—breakfast will be done in a jiffy. Mr. Mornay is to be wed today, as you know, sir.”
“Yes.” He grew thoughtful a moment. “Do you know what time he got in, last night?”
“Oh, bless me, sir! I’m not the butler, or his val-lay!”
“Thank you.” He bowed slightly, bringing more giggles, and made his way back to the main hall. There he saw the butler just coming on duty, straightening his waistcoat.
“Good morning, sir!” Frederick said, crisply.
“Mr. Frederick—” Mr. Timmons was greatly relieved. “I’m afraid I fell asleep in the parlour. Do you happen to know w
hen Mr. Mornay got home last night?”
“I thought it best not to disturb you, sir.”
“I thank you, though I wish you had. What time did you say he got in?”
The butler regarded him a moment. “I must have been asleep by then, sir. I am not required to wait up for him you know, though of course I like to. I’m afraid that last night I was uncommonly tired and—”
“Are you telling me that you didn’t see your master last night?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Are you not concerned for him? Are you not worried that he is not home, and this, his wedding day?”
The butler shook his head. “Not at all, sir! Mr. Mornay is well aware of his wedding today, I assure you. He will be ready on time.”
“When he has been out all night?” He looked squarely at the butler. “I need to know if the man is here. Would you check his chamber, please? If he is in any shape to rise, please ask him to do so, and tell him that I am waiting for him in the, ah…”
“The morning room, sir?”
“Yes. The morning room.”
“Very good, sir.” Freddy began heading to the staircase, but Mr. Timmons called out, “Excuse me, old chap, but which way is the morning room?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mr. Frederick waited until Mr. Timmons was out of sight. With a furtive look back, he hurried toward the staircase. Of course he didn’t believe for a second that his master was not at home. Preposterous suggestion! But it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek at him either. Surely Fotch had awakened him by now. He headed for the master’s bedchamber.
Ariana had taken only tea at breakfast, for the fluttering in her stomach would allow naught else. Indeed, she thought she might burst from happiness. It seemed she'd been betrothed to Mr. Mornay for an absurdly long time.
Harrietta moved more slowly than usual, doing her preparations. She seemed cast down in contrast to Ariana’s joy. “What is it, Harrietta?”
“It’s jus’ that I’ll miss ye when you’re married, miss.”
“But aren’t you coming with me?”
Harrietta looked startled. “The mistress said nothin' to me about it.”
“Oh, dear. I am sure we spoke of it. I suppose we each thought the other would tell you. You are to come with me, Harrietta, until we both decide if we suit.”
“Oh, bless me, Miss Forsythe, do we suit? I’d be ‘appy to stay with you forever!”
“Well, then,” Ariana replied, with a little smile. “As I assuredly need you, then ‘tis settled.”
“Oh, thank ye, miss! I must write to my sister and tell her the good news!”
Ariana remembered that Harrietta had not been a lady’s maid before her arrival, but Mrs. Bentley had promoted her with the help of some quick training in hair dressing and the proper handling of expensive fabrics. Harrietta’s old duties were much more laborious, not to mention that the position of lady’s maid gave her precedence over all other female servants, save Mrs. Ruskin. Ariana’s coming had lifted her from a life of drudgery, and she had no wish to return to it.
She was silent for a moment, while Harrietta expertly used her fingers to twist and turn the little curls about Ariana’s face to hang, just so.
“You'll needs must pack your things directly,” Ariana said. “You must come along with the other servants when we leave following the ceremony.”
“Yes, miss!” There were tears in her eyes.
When Freddy arrived at the master’s bedchamber, he found a sleeping Fotch inside on a wing chair. So far, so good. But the bed, when he pulled aside the curtain enough to peek, was empty! It hadn’t been slept in. Good heavens!
“Mr. Fotch! Where is the master?”
“Hum? What? Where is he?”
“Wake up, sir! Where is Mr. Mornay!”
Fotch came to, sat up, looked at the bed, and scratched his head. “I never saw him! Is he not in the house?”
“Oh, dear.” Frederick’s brows furrowed. “There is a Mr. Timmons here. A rector! He is looking for the master.” His eyes widened with a terrible thought. “Could this be the man who will perform the ceremony?”
“Not Mr. Hodgson? He presides at Saint George’s!”
“This may be Miss Forsythe’s man!”
Fotch frowned, thinking. “It must be him, right and tight! What’ll we do?”
“He seems awfully suspicious. And now the master gone! I say, it does have an appearance of ill-boding. But Mr. Mornay would hardly miss his own wedding! He’s never been pigeon-headed in his life! What do you make of it?”
Fotch looked pensive. He quickly went to the wardrobe and had a look about, but he shook his head. “His church clothes are here.” He looked at Freddy. “I don’t like it, Mr. Frederick.”
“Nor do I, Mr. Fotch.” The two men stood there helplessly.
“We’d best do something about him,” Fotch said, referring to the rector.
“Indubitably. If he thinks the master hasn’t been here, he may run back to Hanover Square and give the wrong impression.” Their eyes met. “He may cancel the wedding!” It was an admission attended with all due respect, and the men hung their heads.
“That mustn’t happen!”
“The master would not intentionally miss his wedding.”
“Never!”
“He’s been too happy about it. Have you noted the change in him?”
“That I have!” Fotch remembered the way he’d seen his master with Miss Forsythe, the attentiveness in his manner, and the softening of his bearing. Something was evidently amiss today, but whatever it was, he knew—he just knew—the master was not intentionally remiss.
Mr. Frederick took a breath. “Stay here, in case our rector comes.”
“Perhaps the master’s at Hanover Square!” the other said. “Send and ask!”
“But how can we? If he is not there, it will give away that we, who should know precisely where he is, do not know! No, sir, that won’t answer.” Their frowns deepened.
Freddy said, “I’ll go see to that rector. And then perhaps I’ll make some inquiries of Mr. Mornay’s acquaintances. They may know something of this.”
“I dread to think you are right, Mr. Frederick. I dread to think it. But you may be.”
“Indeed.”
They parted. Fotch sat down, bewildered, and at a loss.
Mr. Frederick suddenly appeared again at the door, and he stuck in his head. “Whatever you do, do not allow Mr. Timmons to know that Mr. Mornay is not at home! If he tries to enter this room, you cannot allow it!”
“Right. Send John up here, eh?” John was one of the larger footmen on staff.
“Right. Let’s to it!” Freddy cried, leaving with a look of determination as if he was about to march against Napoleon.
Mr. Timmons was enjoying his breakfast and the attention of servants who had no one else to serve save himself. He still felt a nagging concern about Mr. Mornay, for he feared there wouldn’t be time enough to talk before the man had to rush off to his wedding. He looked at his watch and frowned. Eleven o’clock. How long would Mornay keep him waiting?
Mr. Frederick entered the room and bowed. “Mr. Mornay is still abed sir. He begs your patience, asking that you excuse him as he rarely takes breakfast. He will be happy to meet with you afterward.”
“Ah, splendid!” Timmons said. “Splendid, my good man. Thank you.”
Ariana turned slowly, letting her family admire the satin and silk gown with its train of white lace. Her bouquet had arrived and was elegant. At home, girls used country wild flowers for their poseys, but here she had received the benefit of Mrs. Bentley’s largesse as usual. The bouquet was enchanting, made of sweet-scented, tightly curled roses, with fresh greens.
Now Mrs. Bentley appeared in the parlour and all of the subsequent “oohs,” and “aahs,” that must accompany a bride’s entrance, even an older bride, were made and smilingly accepted. Mrs. Bentley did indeed look lovely. She wore a veiled headdress with a covering of cobweb lac
e, and a gown of shot silk and satin in light blue-grey that sparkled wherever light fell upon it. Matching jewellery at her neck and wrists also sparkled, giving her a polished look befitting an elegant old dame.
She and Ariana exchanged a smiling embrace, during which Ariana had to blink away a tear. This crochety old woman had become so dear! She was nearly as happy on account of Mrs. Bentley’s wedding as she was for her own. Who would have thought that she and her aunt would be tying the knot on the same day?
The Forsythes were dressed and ready. Little Lucy followed Ariana everywhere, wanting to carry the train that Ariana had securely fastened on the side of her dress with by a button which existed for just that purpose. Lucy’s childish intuition told her she would soon be missing this sister yet again. Mrs. Bentley’s fine coach was at the curb, ready to take them to the church. There would be no walking to church today.
A small crowd had gathered near St. George’s for the Paragon’s wedding. Generally, town weddings did not draw a large number of people, but not only did many hope to glimpse the man on his wedding day, they wanted to see his famously pretty bride as well. Others received word (as these things are bound to happen) that the princess would appear and were there to see her. In all, it was with great difficulty that the footmen who had been sent ahead were able to keep the church from over-crowding, and when the princess did arrive, of course there was a great fuss.
Her Royal Highness was equal to a fuss, being vastly acquainted with them. She walked to the front of the church flanked by two of her ladies and one gentleman, and took a seat at the head. Her smiling countenance had already repaid the audience for their trouble of coming—and the principal beings hadn’t even arrived, yet. The mood was uncommonly jocular.
Mr. Pellham arrived. He made his way to stand before the altar smiling amiably, greeting acquaintances with a friendly nod, and looking cozy and dignified in his stiff dark trousers and tailcoat, and golden-handled cane. His face shone with happiness.
The House in Grosvenor Square: A Novel of Regency England (The Regency Trilogy Book 2) Page 35