Before the Season Ends Read online

  After getting her bonnet and reticule, and notifying Haines of their destination for her aunt, they left the house. Mr. Mornay shooed away the footman and handed Ariana into the coach.

  The lady seated inside was a pleasant-looking young woman by the name of Miss Dorsett, and her companion, Mr. Hartley, equally amiable in his greeting. Ariana felt sure it was going to be a very agreeable outing.

  Miss Dorsett’s brown hair curled about a modestly fashionable bonnet and her hazel eyes smiled a great deal. Mr. Hartley had reddish-brown hair with a stylish lick, but nothing so loud in his attire that one could mistake him for a pink.

  During the drive Ariana exchanged pleasantries with the couple, not surprised that Mr. Mornay’s comments were few. His eyes were milder than she remembered them, and he looked at her often. Now and then he even gave her a hint of a smile. It made her feel they were back at their easy method of being together, as when they had gone to the opera or theatre as a couple. Miss Dorsett and Mr. Hartley kept up a cheerful banter that made the atmosphere lighter for everyone. Talk turned to London.

  “Are you enjoying your stay in town?” Mr. Hartley asked Ariana.

  “I am very much indeed.”

  This caught Mr. Mornay’s interest. “Have you seen some of the places you wished to, then?”

  Ariana tried to ignore the familiar pangs in her stomach as she met his gaze. “I have, with you to thank.” She turned to the others and explained. “Mr. Mornay escorted me on many a delightful evening to the opera and theatre and ballet. I feel certain today’s excursion will be another delight which I will be in his debt for.”

  “What other sights are you hoping to see, Miss Forsythe? Do name them for us.” Miss Dorsett’s eyes regarded her earnestly.

  Ariana paused to think. “The Royal Academy, the Tower, the British Museum, The Egyptian Hall; and, oh, I must not forget St. Paul’s Cathedral and Westminster.” She spoke a little about the architectural styles of the noted cathedrals. “And I would like to tour a missionary society I know of, and a charity school, if I may.”

  Mr. Hartley expressed surprise at this last comment, and Ariana added, “I have long desired to educate myself on how the less fortunate of society are helped—”

  “Bravo, Miss Forsythe!” Mr. Hartley said. “I say, I haven’t stepped into a church since before my first season. Why do we not all take a tour together sometime, eh, Mornay?”

  Before he could answer, Ariana did. “Perhaps, Mr. Hartley, you should try going first upon a Sunday.” She had not been able to resist offering the advice to one who admitted outright to neglecting Sunday services, though Mr. Hartley had not addressed his remark to her. Miss Dorsett’s lips were suddenly compressed as she endeavoured not to laugh. Mr. Hartley laughed rather too much, belatedly realizing her earnestness; and Mr. Mornay’s eyes came alight though he said nothing.

  Ariana then turned to Miss Dorsett. “And you, Miss Dorsett? Do you know of any house of worship we should all endeavour to see?”

  Miss Dorsett considered the question a moment, then said, “I think perhaps St. Paul’s for its architecture after the way you have described it. You make it sound fascinating.” As an afterthought she added, “And, I assure you, Miss Forsythe, I attend church every week.” Ariana offered a companionable smile.

  The bridge toward Vauxhall was a toll road, and it slowed their progress, but soon they had reached the gardens and were out of the carriage. Mr. Hartley, the self-appointed tour guide, turned to Ariana with enthusiasm.

  “This is a famous site, Miss Forsythe, that you will surely appreciate. The gardens are lovely and there are many little amusements within the park to keep one diverted.”

  Ariana was indeed struck by the natural beauty. It was early for flowers but there were primroses and crocuses, and the trees, while not yet in bud, were still a welcome sight after the drab London streets. Ariana was still unused to the sooty air and unpleasant aromas, and, worst of all, the presence of so many starkly poor people. It made her feel helpless, for she failed to devise any scheme for helping so many needy souls. This was another reason she wished to visit the charity schools and foundations begun by Christian Societies in London—of which there were many. She needed to know that much was being done and especially if there was a role for her in aiding such work. But she tried to shake off such thoughts and enjoy her surroundings.

  The foursome naturally separated into couples. The others led the way, and Mr. Mornay and Ariana followed a little distance behind. Ariana exclaimed about the prettiness of the primroses and stopped to lean down and take a whiff.

  Mr. Mornay took the opportunity of their being alone to say, “Miss Forsythe, I called upon you to see how you are getting on.”

  “Thank you for your thoughtfulness,” she replied. He seemed doubly tall and imposing from where she was, near the flowers, at the moment. She came to her full height and added, “Unless Mr. Pellham refuses to recover, I may still look forward to his taking me about.”

  “He is still abed?” He looked surprised. “Perhaps he lacks the right medical man. I will send my doctor to see him.”

  Ariana started to speak her approval, but before she began, he was speaking again.

  “More to the point, Ariana, I’ve been stricken with guilt on account of my hasty departure from you. If I had not abruptly abandoned you there would have been no rumour about a decline.” He paused, searching her face. “Be plain with me. Have you been distressed?”

  Ariana was taken aback by his sudden question, and by the fact he had used her Christian name. And yet it seemed quite natural for him to do so and she liked it a great deal, but it made her flush.

  “I was indeed sorry.” She hesitated, wondering whether to hazard the whole truth. Well, why not? Honesty had always been her policy.

  “I thought I should never see you again and I was distressed on that account.” She took a quick peek at his eyes. “I was not overly distressed; I do not think one could call it a decline. But I did miss your company.” She couldn’t help blushing furiously.

  “Thank you.”

  “I have prayed for you often.”

  “Prayed for me?” He looked astounded.

  “Yes, for your salvation. All of mankind needs salvation.”

  He thought, She thinks I am the devil himself! There was a silence then, which he broke by saying, “Then I have distressed you; I am sorry for it.”

  “My dear Mr. Mornay, you needn’t be sorry.” She looked up at him. “I am indebted to your kindness, and happy to pray for you. I promise you there is no one I pray for more often than you.”

  His brows furrowed. But any words he might have said had to wait. A voice was approaching, exclaiming, “Miss Forsythe! What a happy meeting!”

  It was Mr. O’Brien coming their way in the company of a young woman and an older one.

  “Did I not tell you about Miss Forsythe?” The threesome stopped near them and nodded, smilingly, at Ariana. Ahead of them, Mr. Hartley and Miss Dorsett turned, saw the meeting, and waited, staying a polite distance away.

  “Allow me to present Miss Forsythe to you, Mama!” The older lady was smiling amiably at Ariana, but Mr. Mornay broke in. In a lazy voice that belied the substance of what he spoke, he said to Mr. O’Brien: “I daresay your mama should be introduced to Miss Forsythe.” His voice was lazy and light but hit its mark. There was an awkward silence during which Mr. O’Brien recognized Mr. Mornay and paled; the women lost their smiles, and Ariana felt an uncomfortable alarm. With a glowering look at her companion, Ariana said, “Do, I pray you, Mr. O’Brien, introduce me to your mama! I should be honoured to know her!”

  Mr. O’Brien glanced at Mr. Mornay. “Perhaps another day, Miss Forsythe. It was an ill-timed meeting, I see. Good day.” He took each lady by an arm and hurried them off.

  Anticipating Ariana’s reaction Mornay said, “He was thoroughly improper. You are by far the social superior and should be treated as such.”

  Ariana could not remain silen
t. “I am beyond ashamed, Mr. Mornay! How will I face Mr. O’Brien again? How can I meet his family? They are bound to think I am the most pretentious…odious—!”

  “You mistake the matter,” Mornay interrupted. “It was a simple enough blunder on your young friend’s part, but I fail to understand why you should be the least flummoxed by it. It was their mistake, not yours.”

  “No! It was your mistake!”

  The raised brows were his only response. They had reached the others, and Mr. Hartley asked if they would be agreeable to a gondola ride.

  Mr. Mornay searched the sky a moment. “The wind is picking up.”

  Ariana looked around at the sky and there were indeed gray clouds scudding in, bringing a chilling breeze. She was happy for her warm spencer.

  Mr. Hartley scoffed. “What’s a little wind? Miss Dorsett has never been on a gondola and I am determined to give her the opportunity! Come, Mornay, be sporting!”

  He looked at Ariana who instantly offered, “I have never been on one, either!”

  “Then you ought not to miss this chance. There are costumed boatmen in Venetian-style barks,” Hartley explained, to which both ladies expressed delighted anticipation. Even Mr. Mornay could not be impervious to this and he reluctantly agreed.

  “If we go directly,” Mr. Hartley said, “I think the weather will hold for a quick outing.”

  At the river they were told in stilted English that only two people per boat was the preference.

  “He is a thief,” warned Mr. Mornay. “I have been on one with four people, in the past.”

  Mr. Hartley, ever pleasant, said, “We shall have to enjoy ourselves separately. Miss Dorsett and I will go in one and you two in the next. We’ll meet back on shore afterward.”

  After Ariana had settled on a wooden seat inside the narrow vessel, holding on to the sides for support, Mr. Mornay took his seat in front of her so they faced each other. Ariana waved gaily at Miss Dorsett and Mr. Hartley in the other boat, and they waved back with equal fervor.

  Soon the boats began to separate and eventually Ariana found herself virtually alone with Mr. Mornay. There were other crafts afloat, but not in their vicinity. The water became lighter and darker in appearance as the sun went alternately in and out of the heavy clouds overhead, and a breeze tugged playfully at Ariana’s bonnet.

  “You must endeavour to see Vauxhall at night,” Mornay said. “In the summer there are fireworks most every evening.”

  “Yes, so I have heard,” she said.

  “Mr. Pellham will no doubt insist upon taking you.”

  “I hope he shall,” Ariana said quietly.

  Mornay looked at her silently for a moment, and then offered, “Have no admirers—for I’m sure there are many—offered to take you to the museums or other sights?”

  Blushing, Ariana thought of the numerous young bucks that often sought her hand for the dance floor, and her cheeks grew even warmer. She had been under the suspicion for some time that her “admirers” thought, mistakenly, that she was of a rich family. For this reason, she had refused any offers for outings or sightseeings, allowing herself only a harmless dance with most gentlemen. Mr. O’Brien was an exception, as was Mr. Mornay.

  As for Mr. Mornay, since he was quite rich (and therefore not seeking a fortune) and was not going to offer for her, she felt perfectly comfortable accepting his invitations for an outing, such as today’s. But many of the beau monde were eagerly seeking wealthy brides, and Ariana was entitled to only a modest share of a modest estate, despite the wealthy appearance she presented. It was a difficult and precarious position to be in, and one she was not enjoying.

  “There have been invitations…but I have not felt comfortable in accepting them.”

  “Why is that?” His voice was inquisitive and almost caring, and she wanted to tell him everything about her circumstances. She had never considered hiding them from anyone intentionally, but suddenly she felt a new, insidious fear. What if Mr. Mornay would no longer associate with her if he knew her true state of affairs?

  On the other hand, if he did refuse to know her afterward, then she could only be well rid of him. A real friend would not be swayed by one’s lack of wealth—wasn’t that true? She peeked up at him, wondering.

  “Does no one interest you?” His dark eyes were upon hers, veiled and indecipherable as always. For once, she wished she knew what lay behind that veil. But once again, she had to be honest.

  “I have discovered only one gentleman with whom I can speak of spiritual things—Mr. O’Brien—who may very well never speak to me again! In addition he alone can have no false hopes regarding me, for he understands my background completely.”

  Mr. Mornay sat forward, studying her face. “What kind of spiritual things? And what do you mean by ‘false hopes?’ Answer that question first.”

  Ariana was silent a moment. She looked around at the water and the darkening sky, felt a breeze, and shivered. “I hardly know how to begin. You see, I am not what I appear to be.”

  The raised brow. The little bemused expression.

  “Do go on, Ariana; I am living to hear this explanation.”

  “You mock me, but you will see I am in earnest!” Her face looked adorably so.

  “I have no doubt whatsoever you are in earnest. Pray, continue.”

  She took another deep breath. “Why did you treat Mr. O’Brien so poorly?”

  “Do not change the subject. I will answer that question at a later time if you insist, but you were going to explain how you are not what you appear to be.”

  “But this is to the point,” she insisted. “I know why you treated him badly, but I would like you to say why, in your own words.”

  “You sound like my old tutor.”

  “Well?” Her expression was expectant. “Are you going to answer my question?”

  Now Mr. Mornay sighed. “It isn’t unusual for me to be unpleasant, Ariana, you surely realize that by now.”

  “But you can be prodigiously pleasant! Indeed, you are capable of the finest manners. There is a reason you do not like him, and it is because he is—below you. He is not wealthy, or popular, or so fashionable as you.”

  “To a small extent I suppose you have hit the mark.” He was irritated. “What difference does it make? Are you fond of him? Did I insult the man you favour?”

  “ ’Tisn’t that!”

  “Wait! I have it.” He paused. “He is timid, devilishly boring, and shabby genteel. I daresay you won’t like my saying so, but those are my reasons.”

  “Just as I thought!”

  He smiled at the way her face puckered up in thought.

  “Why do you smile?”

  And then she lowered her head and covered her face with her hands to repress tears that momentarily threatened. When she was certain of having quenched them, she looked up and added, more calmly, “I find Mr. O’Brien to be courteous and gracious and above all things, interesting in his conversation! As for being ‘shabby genteel,’ I do not lay the blame at a man’s door for what he was born into.”

  Mr. Mornay sat forward in concern, realizing the degree of distress she felt. Of course it was ridiculous what she was saying. People were judged by their birth, fair or not. He would have spoken, but she hadn’t finished.

  “You yourself would have nothing, nothing at all, if God did not see fit to give it to you! How can you be so arrogant and proud of something you merely received?”

  Perhaps Mr. Mornay had not thought of his circumstances in that light for a long time. But he astonished her with his next remark, spoken lightly.

  “Well, said, indeed. I am an arrogant beast and I know it. But this is nothing new. Why does it vex you so?”

  “Because—” She was holding back tears once more, and annoyed at herself for it. “There is no reason why you should see fit to know me!”

  The dark eyes beholding her sent a little spark up to their tumultuous surface.

  “I have never found you to be to be overly timid,�
�� he said. “Proper, perhaps, but with a scandalous wont to speak plainly that I find wholly rejuvenating.”

  “But what of being shabby genteel, Mr. Mornay? Has it never occurred to you that I may be a part of that dreaded class?”

  He gave her a surprised look. “Are you telling me that you are? But no, for by all appearances you must be free from that danger.”

  Ariana stood up in agitation.

  “I told you I am not what I appear to be! Did I not say that, precisely?”

  He was concerned to see her swaying in the moving boat.

  “Sit down!”

  “No!” She objected immediately to his tone.

  “You are swaying; I will not sit by and watch you take an unwelcome swim. Now, take your seat!” This severe tone never failed to raise her own temper, and she surveyed him stubbornly. It was true she was swaying, but she had complete control of herself. The bench her legs leaned up against, though it reached only halfway above her ankles, anchored her.

  “I am exceedingly sorry you have called upon me when you no longer have need to! Now that Lady Covington has withdrawn her claws from me, you are perfectly free to ignore me!”

  His frown deepened further. “Ariana!” That firm, daunting voice. “Take your seat!” But she ignored him, focusing only on the throes of her predicament.

  “Oh! My aunt has meant well, but she has ensured my ruin!” This sounded very dramatic and even Mr. Mornay had to respond.

  “Whatever are you talking about!” When she did not answer but only continued to survey him with blazing eyes, he surprised her by reverting to a seldom-heard, kinder tone.

  “I have upset you. You must know that my ill manners are not personal, to either you or your friend. I am afraid you are unaware of what a habitually unpleasant being I can be.”

  The admission did seem to help, for her expression softened.

  “You know of course, that I hold you in high regard,” he went on in an extra measure of appeasement that was not lost on her. At first her eyes flashed prettily but then her face sobered.