Before the Season Ends (32 page)

“He insists my clothing is overdone! And I’ve too much jewelery. Do you think so, Lavinia? Please give me your true opinion!”

Lavinia was surprised at what seemed to her a trifling matter. But she obediently gave her friend the once-over, and shook her head.

“I think you look wonderful!”

“Top-o’-the trees,” added the countess, still shamelessly eavesdropping. “You are certainly bedecked, my dear, but becomingly so.”

Mr. Mornay started in their direction, and Ariana, determined not to speak another word to him, excused herself rapidly and walked away. Mr. O’Brien had been nearby, waiting to have her to himself, and he instantly befriended her now, tucking her arm into his.

Mr. Mornay kept to his purpose, seeking Ariana’s aunt. He was intent on registering a very pointed complaint. Mrs. Bentley saw him approaching, made her excuses to the lady she was chatting with, and came forward to meet him, feeling triumph was at hand. His first words, however, astonished her.

“What can you have been thinking when you gave your approval to such an outlandish outfit for Ariana?” He had not even bothered to bow.

Mrs. Bentley’s hand went to her heart. “But everyone is unanimous in thinking Ariana’s gown is beyond the latest mode!”

“Yes,
quite
beyond. My point exactly.”

It was so difficult to make any response to the glaring black eyes studying her disapprovingly that Mrs. Bentley stood there helplessly. Many people, when up against Mornay, did not respond other than standing the brunt of disapproval as well as possible, and then making for solitude where they could collapse in private. Mrs. Bentley feared she was soon to join their ranks.

Ariana, meanwhile, was doing her best to mind Mr. O’Brien’s light banter, but her heart, still smarting from the earlier encounter, was not with him. She had hoped to find Mr. Mornay sympathetic to her predicament, thinking he, of all people, understood it. They might have laughed together at her aunt’s latest scheme to garnish approval—and offers—for her niece. Instead, he reacted as if she had personally offended him.

The chamber group began a country dance tune. Ariana had long since promised away many dances, the first of which she was required by custom to give to the highest ranking man present. It happened to be a duke whose name she could not recall. Fortunately she had merely to say, “Your Grace,” to most anything he said, with a little nod of her head, so the memory lapse didn’t signify.

Her next dance partner was Mr. O’Brien, who made repeated attempts to speak when they came abreast of each other or face-to-face. Something about having an urgent matter to discuss with her.

No,
she thought. It could not be tonight. She had enough on her mind. However, Mr. O’Brien’s apparent approval of her was comforting, as was that of Lord Horatio during the next dance. When he made conversation, his genuine admiring tones restored her feelings sufficiently so she no longer felt the need to cry. She refused to peek, but she was curious whether or not Mr. Mornay had left. It was grossly unfair that she cared about his opinion of her, but useless to deny it. Despite her anger and hurt, she dreaded discovering that he’d gone.

After the dance Lord Horatio released her reluctantly as the Reverend and Mrs. Chesley, the parents of Harold Chesley, one of her admirers, hailed her. Lord Horatio had been determined to find out
this night once and for all if Mornay had intentions. He had suspected such and forced himself to keep his distance from Miss Forsythe. But here the season was past midway and his friend had made no declaration. Fair was fair, and if Mornay wasn’t smart enough to snatch up the lady, he certainly was!

Ariana had noticed that Mr. Chesley was sporting a cravat nearly as high and stiff as those the fops wore, but she determined to be polite to his parents in any case. Mr. O’Brien then appeared again at her side, and seemed impatient; nor did he release Ariana’s arm from his own during her conversation with the couple.

Mr. O’Brien had decided to offer Ariana marriage some time ago; but Mrs. Bentley’s eagle eye had always been upon him, affording him no time alone with Ariana. He saw tonight as the chance to speak to her, if only for a few minutes, to settle the matter. The sudden appearance of Mr. Mornay was another reason he was fretting. Why on earth did that man insist upon hanging about Ariana? Everyone knew he would no sooner marry than be bitten by a snake! But his continual presence around her was definitely making him nervous.

And then as he stood by Ariana waiting for the Chesleys’ interminable conversation to end, he saw Mrs. Bentley motioning frantically from across the room. Did she want him? No, it was Ariana. Glad for a legitimate reason to interrupt, he proclaimed, “Excuse me, but your aunt is beckoning for you, my dear.” He gave the Chesleys a short, relieved smile.

Ariana looked across the room, saw her aunt waving her handkerchief vigorously at her, and agreed. She smiled, excused herself from the Chesleys—and Mr. O’Brien, whose features dropped in disappointment—and hurried to cross the ballroom to her relation. With a start, she saw that Mr. Mornay, whose figure had been hidden by a romanesque bust on a pedestal, was beside her aunt. She took a breath and continued.

When she approached them she saw that her aunt had been crying. Mrs. Bentley,
crying!
Her eyes were red and a little puffy, and she was holding her handkerchief to one eye even now.

“I have called you, my dear, to insist you give Mr. Mornay your next dance,” Aunt Bentley stammered.

Ariana looked at Mornay in surprise. Did he truly want a dance with her? Was he no longer angry? Or was he seeking an opportunity to give her a further set-down? While her thoughts raced thus, she noticed he was looking at her differently now without a trace of anger. In addition, he had a drawn, resigned look about his face. He appeared nearly as distraught as her aunt.

“But I am promised to another gentleman for the next dance,” Ariana said.

“That is of no account; if Mr. Mornay wants to dance with you, he must be allowed.” Her aunt dabbed at her eyes again.

“You have been too hard on my aunt, Mr. Mornay!” Ariana said in rebuke. “Is it not enough for you to provoke me? Must you upset her also?”

“No, no, no! Forget that, my dear!” Mrs. Bentley looked distressed.

Ariana looked from one to the other and saw unmistakable signs of tension.

“What has happened? You both look as fearsome as ghosts.” She attempted a laugh, but no one joined her.

Mrs. Bentley gave a little sigh, glanced at Mr. Mornay, and then drew Ariana in close to her.

“We will make the announcement after he speaks to you,” she hissed, “but Mr. Mornay has offered for you. You are to marry him!”

Ariana’s expressive eyes widened, and colour rushed into her cheeks. Mr. Mornay’s scolding voice interrupted her shock.

“You should not have told her like that!” More calmly, he said, “I wanted to speak to her myself, first.” He looked at Ariana. “I apologize for the suddenness of this—I see it has surprised you. Come, take a turn with me about the room.”

A
riana accepted Mr. Mornay’s arm, astounded at what she had just heard. But there was lightness about her heart, and suddenly she was blinking back tears of an entirely different sort from those she had struggled against earlier. Mr. Mornay had offered for her! He must love her!

He led her forward, but they could not speak. The late comers had all arrived, and the ball had now reached the level of a genuine crush. He dropped her arm and took her hand firmly and began making his way across the room. Some people stopped him, intent on conversing with the Paragon, but he was brusque to the point of rudeness.

“Not
now!
” The forbidding hiss was sufficient so that people turned away in mortification. Ariana was also hailed, but she was pulled on by Mr. Mornay’s grasp, and could only blurt, “Good evening!” Her smile was so great, however, that it drew curiosity, and soon the guests noticed that the Paragon was leading her. A ripple of excitement swept through the crowd.

Conflicting feelings were sweeping through Ariana. Amazement, happiness, yes; but also an unwelcome sense of caution. A nagging voice that even now was insisting she could not accept a man who was practically a heathen. How irritating to be reminded of it!

Suddenly Mr. Pellham was before her, and Ariana stopped in delight. She pulled strongly against her companion’s firm grip so resolutely that Mr. Mornay came to a halt.

“Mr. Pellham!” Ariana said in delight. “You have no crutches! And you have come to our ball!”

The man smiled and bowed, first to Ariana, and then, unbelievably, to Mr. Mornay, who was also surprised.

“I believe I have this man to thank. He sent his personal physician to me, who prescribed a new physic for the pain in my leg, and what do you know? After the pain was gone, I found I was regaining use of my leg! It is stronger every day, my dear!”

Ariana impulsively gave Mr. Pellham a hug. “I daresay it is Mr. Mornay who deserves your gratitude—and mine.”

He looked directly at the Paragon. “Thank you, sir. You have done me a great service.” He reached forth his hand, a thing which was unimaginable not long ago, and shook the hand of Ariana’s companion, who was uncharacteristically smiling back at him.

But the crowd was pressing in, and after Ariana had directed Mr. Pellham to her aunt, they continued on. After leaving the ballroom the couple went through a succession of occupied rooms: sitting room, card room, supper room. Now and then her suitor would look over at Ariana, and she marvelled at what she saw in his eyes: unmistakable affection and admiration. She felt elated, as though her feet hardly touched the floor. But they were nearing the front door and he was still moving determinedly on.

“Where are you taking us?”

“To a place where we can speak without shouting.”

Haines, seeing the young mistress, was going to suggest she needed a coat, but one look at Mr. Mornay’s face reminded him that silence could indeed be golden.

When they hesitated momentarily at the door, Ariana took the moment to gasp, “Not outside! What will people say?” This was a useless argument to present to him for he cared very little what people said. In fact, that appeared to settle the matter for him. He motioned for the butler to open the door.

“I shan’t go! There must be a room in the house where we can talk.” Her eyes were suddenly alight. “I know! The servants’ quarters. Or the kitchen.”

He frowned. The thought of declaring his love in such a place struck him as absurd.

“No, we’ll go outside.”

“Very well.” Her tone was reluctant. “But I need something warmer than gauze,” motioning at her shawl. He eyed the butler who immediately moved off to fetch an appropriate garment. When he returned with a pelisse, he would have helped his young mistress into it except the sagacious-eyed gentleman insisted upon that honour.

Outside on the pavement, Ariana looked up at him, studying his face. She had never looked at him with the thought that he cared so much for her; enough to marry her! It was an amazing, wonderful feeling.

“Did you
really
offer for me?” She felt unable to grasp it.

He looked down at her warmly. “I did. Are you astonished?”

She nodded.

“So am I.” He continued to look at her as they walked, arm in arm, and asked lazily, “Any other reactions?”

She realized the lazy tone was due to his vulnerability. A cover.

“I
love
you, Phillip Mornay; how could I feel, except wonderful?”

He stopped walking, impulsively wanting to pull her up against him, but could not. The only people about were the coachmen, grooms, and a few footmen waiting around their equipages for the return of their employers, but it was not proper to display affection publicly and he would not do it.

Instead, he began moving them hurriedly out to the street.

“Where to, now?”

He made no answer, but was looking for his own equipage.

“I cannot ride in your carriage. That would be improper!”

He whistled loudly, getting the attention of every servant on the block, but his own man heard it and from down the street Ariana could see a team being led to turn around to their direction. He turned patient eyes to hers.

“Did I not escort you home in my carriage only a week or so ago? And that was before we were betrothed; I assure you there is nothing scandalous about taking a short spin with me, now.”

“But a betrothal cannot be announced, yet. You must know there are—concerns—to discuss, first.”

He looked at her searchingly. “If you mean finances—”

“No!” She blushed pink.

“Then what?”

The carriage pulled up in front of them and he led her toward the door. A liveried footman jumped from the back, quickly let down the steps, and stood aside.

Ariana stopped and stood firm, refusing to move. Mr. Mornay looked at his servant and said, “Go to the back, Charles.” The man obediently went to the rear of the vehicle and climbed onto his perch. Ariana’s suitor did not relish having his remarks overheard by servants. He gave her another of his patient looks.