The House in Grosvenor Square Read online

  Somehow his idea of keeping distance between them was turning out to be untenable. He had meant to have it so, to stay occupied apart from her, but with the season in full swing and so many invitations for the two of them, it was impossible to fulfill the plan.

  He handed her into his plush black coach with a greater feeling of contentment than he’d ever known. He had not been in love before. His youthful passion—and heartbreak—following an ill-advised teen-aged liaison, he now viewed with the eye of maturity. It hadn’t been love, after all. It was calf-love, an infatuation, which, coupled with his youth, inexperience with the world, and then the succession of deaths in his family—first his father, then Nigel his brother, and then his mother, all within the space of eighteen months—had made him think himself heartbroken and world-weary. He realized now that he had mostly been grieving. But his grief had been pushed aside, and in its place he’d erected a deep distrust of women and the world in general.

  Faced with the treachery of his youthful love-interest, he had avoided females for years. He’d been quite successful at it too, feeling no need to change his conviction on that head until he’d met Ariana. Having charge of her now, tonight, felt very enjoyable

  He may have been failing to keep his distance from her, but he was at least doing better at keeping her out of his arms. He’d behaved admirably the prior evening when he took her home and was determined to do so again. But when she asked him point blank to escort her somewhere, such as to the Herley’s, how could he refrain? Did he want someone else doing so? No, most assuredly not—particularly in light of her near abduction.

  When the wheels began turning, she said, “Thank you for taking me to the Herley’s.”

  “Not at all.” He reached across and took her hand, and held it firmly between his. “I own a townhouse on the street, you know.”

  Surprised, she said, “Indeed?”

  For a few moments they sat that way, when suddenly he moved and sat beside her. She gave a weak smile.

  He kissed her hand.

  “My aunt, I daresay, will expect us at the viscount’s no later than ten o’clock.”

  “No doubt.” He turned her hand palm upward and kissed it again.

  “May I take part in one card game, do you think, at Lavinia’s?”

  He paused for a second over her hand and said softly, “If you like.” Then he kissed it again.

  “Thank you.”

  “Do not thank me. I delight in doing aught for you.” He kissed her palm again more lingeringly, and just as Ariana was thinking what a good thing it was that she was wearing gloves, he took hold of the end of the glove at the fingertips and began pulling it off. Ariana snatched her hand away.

  “Do not!” she chided laughingly, hiding the offended hand beneath her other arm.

  He gave her a look of mild reproval, while taking back her hand by prying it away until she was forced to relinquish it.

  “Mr. Mornay! You are quite shocking!”

  “Am I?” he looked at her doubtfully. “If so, I am merely behaving in character, for I have always, I’m afraid, acted in a manner you find shocking on occasion. Can you disagree?”

  “No, but in this matter, you have ever been a gentleman.”

  “In what matter is that?”

  For answer, she looked down at her hand which was locked within his strong grasp.

  “Am I not to be trusted with your hand? Only your hand?” He softened his hold on her, and Ariana suddenly felt that it was a bit silly to be so concerned.

  “Very well. I give you my hand, but that is all—until you take it in holy wedlock Friday next.”

  “Which I am eager to do,” he replied, looking into her eyes but pulling the glove off in one swift movement. He immediately put her hand up to his lips and kissed it on one side and then the other, and then lingeringly slid his mouth to her wrist. He pushed the fabric of her capelet aside, revealing her delicate arm all the way up to her elbow.

  Ariana was decidedly unready for such an assault upon her senses and pulled her arm away. “You are indeed shocking! I must beg you to cease your attentions to my arm at once!” She colored instantly for having said such a perfectly foolish statement, but she meant it, never mind.

  “Do you indeed?” He smiled roguishly.

  “I insist.”

  “Very well.” He released her hand and leaned over and instantly applied a direct kiss to her mouth. She made a sound of exasperation, and pushed against him—though not as strongly as she might have. He ended the kiss, but then went to pick her up and bring her on his lap. She was just able to gasp, “No!”

  Her tone did cause him to look in surprise at her face, after which, with a sigh, he released her.

  Ariana moved away and looked at him with wide, wary eyes.

  “You needn’t look at me like that,” he added, “I just forgot myself for a moment. It won’t happen again.” In a much lower tone she heard him add, “For now.”

  She turned her face away to hide a smile which threatened to belie her objections. Then she pulled her glove back on and smoothed out some imaginary wrinkles in her gown. They were both silent, then, and she felt suddenly embarrassed.

  “Ariana.”

  “Yes?”

  He chose his words. “Have I made you cross?”

  She thought for a moment. “No.” She could feel his eyes upon her. Slowly she raised her eyes to his.

  I was…I shan’t say what I felt, but not cross.”

  He gave a defeated sigh. “I’m still a beast, you know. I never did have good manners, remember.”

  Her face softened. “Nonsense. You have the finest manners. We—neither of us, are accustomed to being in love, I think.”

  His demeanor relaxed. “Very true.”

  As the Herley’s butler announced the couple, Ariana noted that Phillip had taken on the guarded expression he had by habit cultivated when having to do anything disagreeable. The prospect of spending the next hour in this less-than-exciting gathering of her friends was not something he was savouring.

  “Mr. Mornay!” Mrs. Herley rushed ahead of her husband to greet their famous guest. “Only think how gratified I was to understand that the Paragon was to honour us by coming to our little gathering. May I invite you to sit at table and play a game with us, perhaps?”

  “I thank you, no.”

  At that point, Mr. Herley came forward, hoping, as he thought, to rescue the man. “Allow me to offer our distinguished guest some refreshment, Mrs. Herley.”

  “Why, yes, of course, Mr. Herley! The very thing I was about to suggest. A refreshment.”

  Mr. Mornay moved off with the gentleman, glad to be occupied while not having to mingle. He was prepared to merely endure the next hour in the place, but with rare insight his host suggested, “Might I take you to a quieter room of the house, sir? Where gentlemen can be expected to hear one another’s conversation—the library, perhaps?”

  “Excellent.” He willingly followed his host from the room after taking a last look at Ariana, already sitting at table with Lavinia and other ladies. The cards were dealt. To his eyes she was like a star among the rubble, her hair shimmering even in the dim light of a single candelabra. Her evening gown draped beautifully to the floor as she sat, and her slim frame appeared quite pretty alongside the ladies who flanked her, both of whom were no longer in the blush of youth. Stopping to look, he was momentarily blind to the fact that his host was watching him with a little indulgent smile.

  Mr. Mornay was thinking that he must make it known among his friends that Ariana was not to be trifled with—neither now, or after the wedding. Many married women from his class, for some reason, were known to have illicit affairs, a few with the Regent himself. A mere scent of a scandal around a woman’s name before marriage would ruin her completely. After marriage, it was almost expected that she would eventually look to other men for her entertainment, just as many men also were unfaithful. But of course it would not, could not, be so for Ariana and him.<
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  He followed the man of the house through a large double-door, then along a narrow corridor and across a drafty passageway and into the library. It was more cozy than luxurious, evidently a room much used by the family, but Mr. Mornay took little notice. Just to be excused from attendance in the main card room was pleasure enough.

  He tugged at his watch-fob, checked his watch, and made a mental note to be in the coach with his beloved in no more than one hour. As Mr. Herley retrieved two glasses from the inlaid cupboard and chose their beverages from the bottles of port, wine, sherry and brandy, Mr. Mornay walked idly about the room. He perused the bookshelves and paintings with mild interest. Stopping abruptly, he noticed they had a small portrait of George III, exactly the same as the one which had recently gone missing at his own house. Curious.

  He moved closer. By Jove, but if it wasn’t very like! He wanted quite strongly to take it from the wall to examine it minutely, but good manners forbade that action.

  When his host came over and handed him a glass with an amiable, “Cheers. To the ladies,” he received his beverage with a polite nod and raised it for the toast. After the first sip he turned to the small painting, and remarked, “‘Tis a good likeness of the King. Is it an original?”

  Mr. Herley placed his gaze on the portrait. He gave a short, uncomfortable laugh. “To tell the truth, sir,” he said, his face colouring, “the place was furnished when we bought it. It is my wife’s concern, the quality of the paintings and furniture and what, eh? I couldn’t tell you!”

  “May I look at it?”

  The man gave a flourish with one hand, surprised but pleased that he owned something which had struck the interest of the Paragon. Mr. Mornay took it from the wall carefully, and then turned it over. There, in an upper corner, were the initials, “M.M.” He frowned. He didn’t recall the portrait having initials. He had only learned of the portrait after a servant had found it among his mother’s possessions during an annual deep cleaning. Frederick had seen it in a maid’s hands and plucked it from her before she could replace it to the trunk where it had lain, forgotten, for who knew how long. Freddy had brought it to him, and been told to put it in a prominent place in the first parlour, for Mr. Mornay had instantly seen the picture as a nacky way to hector the Regent on his next visit. Nothing was more certain to raise a dust than for Prinny to think his friend was entertaining sympathies for the king!

  Publicly the prince took pains to appear as the loving son, but with his friends it was no secret he and his father shared little love between them, and the onset of his father’s illness was a welcome circumstance for a man who lived in constant need of padding his purse. As Regent, even with a greater income, he still overspent it—but at least there was no one to reproach him for it as gallingly as his father had often done, in the past.

  Looking at the painting, Mr. Mornay had to concede that the initials on the back fit his mother’s married name, Miranda Mornay. But had the portrait from his house borne such initials? Was this his property or wasn’t it? Why couldn’t he remember? Also, there must be many such portraits of the monarch in existence. As he stood there thinking, Mr. Herley had to smile with the thought that this prime fellow was an evident admirer of the king. He liked him the better for it.

  Not wishing to be too hasty, Mr. Mornay carefully examined the wall where the picture had hung. This caused Mr. Herley to come and peer curiously at the painted surface himself. He had no idea what he was supposed to be looking for, or at. It was just a wall. Mr. Mornay, however, appeared satisfied, gave him a brief, unrevealing smile, and then replaced the artwork to its former position. Curious fellow, this Paragon. Later on he would have to return and take a better look at the picture and the wall. There had to be something outstanding about both of ‘em for the gentleman to have shown such an interest. He hoped he could discover what it was.

  The men sat down and Mr. Mornay took small sips from his glass at long intervals, allowing his host to regale him with the sort of chit-chat men enjoyed; talk of the most recent show of pugilism, racing, and the newest equipages. He had spent time doing worse.

  Ariana was enjoying herself at multiplayer whist, while Beatrice, beside her, watched with sporadic interest. Although Beatrice wished to improve her playing, she had little patience to actually learn the tricks. Ariana had greeted her younger sister quite effusively. Beatrice still had a cold, but Ariana had never feared contracting it. The O’Briens had dutifully kept the girl away in deference to Mrs Bentley’s wishes, but tonight was an exception. And Mrs. Bentley wasn’t around to know it.

  Ariana was able to relax at the Herley’s almost as much as if she’d been at her own house. Lavinia’s lightheartedness was infectious and made a jovial atmosphere. Mr. O’Brien did insist upon settling a troubled look upon her now and then, which she studiously ignored, having no wish to engage in conversation with him. And to everyone’s amusement, Miss Alice invited Beatrice to practice a country dance while the adults played cards. Even Mr. O’Brien emerged from his brown study long enough to gently chide their errors and instruct them on proper form.

  Here there was no formality such as when she had finally begun attending Almack’s on Wednesday nights. The atmosphere there was stilted, and most of the young ladies were so agog with the idea of having to make a good impression that conversation with them was strained. Ariana, who had never viewed herself as being particularly at ease among society, saw that she did indeed stand in contrast to most of the other girls her age. When the patronesses addressed her, she answered them with no qualms. When the Duke of York himself desired the honour of a dance with her, she accepted happily. Other girls looked fraught with unease, and some as if they would burst into tears at the least provocation.

  Mr. Mornay had escorted her twice to the place. Even for Ariana he could little countenance the insipid atmosphere, despite the patronnesses falling over themselves to make him welcome. On her second appearance at the establishment, Ariana had felt so sorry for a sad-looking young woman by name of Miss Blenhem, that she had coaxed Mornay into standing up with the girl. Instead of raising the young lady’s spirits, however, his surprising offer caused her to swoon. The experience (though not without humour) only added to his dread of the place. Which didn’t vex Ariana. She much preferred more intimate, informal parties such as this evening at the Herleys.

  They were playing the last rubber of a game when she spotted a silver candlestick on a table nearby. It seemed somehow familiar, and with a pang she recalled that a silver candlestick had gone missing from Grosvenor Square—after her visit there which included Lavinia and her mamma. It was too jarring a thought to even speak of for a few minutes, and she grew quiet with distressing ideas running through her mind. Very casually, when it was the turn of a Miss Holden, Ariana said, “Lavinia, I admire your candlestick.”

  “Say again?” Lavinia seemed confused. It was a little disconcerting to have an acquaintance suddenly admire one’s candlestick. Had she said, “I adore your fan!” or, “I must get some feathers such as the ones on Lady Gordon’s headdress,” Lavinia would not have been surprised. But to hear her friend say something about a mere candlestick struck her as so odd that she had to question her hearing.

  “There,” Ariana nodded in the direction of the table holding the item. “Your candlestick. ‘Tis amazingly like one at Grosvenor Square.” She kept her eyes on the candlestick, for she could not keep a reproach out of her expression, though she had managed to keep it from her voice. But Lavinia did not fly up into the boughs, as she had half-expected. Instead, the girl let out a tinkle of laughter.

  “Did you hear that, Mamma?” she asked. “Ariana says our candlestick resembles one from Grosvenor Square! Is that not amusing? That we should have anything on par with such a place as that!”

  Mrs. Herley looked severely unamused. “Do not think it so impossible, Vinny! Why must you always sound as though you think we are all done up? I brought many a fine thing with me upon marriage to your papa, and that c
andlestick, well, let me see, it may have been among them.”

  Lavinia took her first real look at the piece in question. “I cannot recall seeing it before,” she said, “And if you do not recall it being yours, perhaps it isn’t ours at all!” She collapsed into laughter. “How perfectly absurd! That we have a candlestick I’ve never seen before, and it mayn’t be ours at all!”

  Her mother cried, “Don’t be a goose! Of course it’s ours!”

  “But you do not recall?” Lavinia now seemed incredulous. “I daresay,” she confided to the whole table, “I already know what my dowry may be, and I shan’t forget a single part of it, ever, I am convinced!”

  “You say that now,” murmured her mother, while concentrating on her cards, “but you may surprise yourself—after a score of years in marriage.”

  Lavinia shrugged with a comical expression. She was such a guileless creature. How could Ariana have suspected her friend for a single moment? As for Mrs. Herley, however, Ariana was not so certain.

  Molly reached out and took hold of the doorknob to Mrs. Hamilton’s room, her face a mixture of timidity, fear, and curiosity. She’d never been in the housekeeper’s room before. She wondered why the laidy wanted her, and hoped it would be good news; a rise in her situation perhaps. Could it be? She’d only been in the place a short while—since that blessed laidy Miss Forsythe had rescued her and caused her to be taken on at Grosvenor Square. Such a fancy establishment! No one she had ever known had worked in such a fine place. The scullery was still the scullery, and she had many unpleasant tasks—but she was content.

  “Come in,” Mrs. Hamilton urged. Molly, naturally shy, had been creeping in slowly and looking about in wonder. The housekeeper’s room was so cozy and well put up. It astonished her.