The Country House Courtship

by Linore Rose Burkard

  When both the large coaches were stuffed with passengers, supplies, and luggage, they started off. Mr. O’Brien had given the family the first vehicle, and sat across from a wet nurse from the village who appeared to be a young mother in good health, who had her own child in tow, a sleeping infant in her arms. She had only a single valise with belongings in it, and a large cloth sack of other things. A few other servants were along, a chambermaid and parlour maid, and Harrietta. The lady’s maid was red-faced from crying, and sat forlornly, often wiping the tears which kept falling down her face with a sodden handkerchief.

  She raised the volume of her crying most remarkably as the trip commenced, though the wet nurse scolded her for it, saying she was like to raise the dead, and what was the new curate to think of such a display?

  Harrietta sobbed, “I can’ ’elp it! My poor mistress! My poor Mrs. Mornay! They say MaryAnn’s dyin’!” She blew her nose loudly into a handkerchief, while Mr. O’Brien said, “There, there, she isn’t even sick yet. She may be spared entirely, you know.”

  “I know it, sir.” But her eyes once more welled with tears. “It’s ’avin’ to leave the ’ouse an’ all, I suppose! It’s just like she’s got the plague!”

  “Now, look here,” said Mr. O’Brien, who was becoming slightly incensed. “There’ll be none of such talk, do you hear? If you spread your pessimism to the other servants, I’ll speak to your master about it.”

  At this Harrietta’s head came up and she studied Mr. O’Brien. She did not want to cause trouble, but she had to think him a most unfeeling man. They all ought to be worried about Mrs. Mornay as much as she was. But perhaps they did not love her like her lady’s maid did. Harrietta was a devoted servant since the day that Miss Forsythe’s coming had raised her from the position of housemaid to that of lady’s maid. Mrs. Bentley (now Mrs. Pellham), her former employer, had provided the necessary instruction for her to learn how to style hair, and to care for the expensive fabrics used for ladies’ clothing. She had, in one short week, gone from a life of drudgery to that of, comparatively speaking, luxury. And Mrs. Mornay was so pleasant and kind! Why, if anything were to happen to her—and here Harrietta began to shed fresh tears, only she turned away from the parson so he wouldn’t see them.

  He did, of course. But he looked to the other maids. “Understand this regarding your mistress. She has only been exposed to one sick person. Physicians come into contact with the sick every day of their lives, and yet most of them live to a ripe old age. Mr. Speckman is merely being cautious on account of the children.” The maids listened, wide-eyed, interested in knowing every detail they could get hold of. He nodded toward Harrietta.

  “This lady has exerted herself far beyond what is merited by the situation. See that no one of you goes off on fanciful notions like hers; we have left Mrs. Mornay in good health and in good hands, and we will add to that our sincere and earnest prayers. If any of you should wish to join us in the drawing room for prayer, we will hold them, say, about nine o’clock of an evening. Does that suit?”

  “Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”

  “Yes, thank you, sir,” added Harrietta, almost apologetically.

  When the carriages with their luggage and supplies and servants and guests reached Warwickdon, Mrs. Persimmon came out to greet the new master of the house. She had received word barely an hour since that such a numerous company was to come! Her heart was lifted up at the thought; and to have children beneath the roof! What a blessing! Of course, she had quite a load of new concerns, and meant to ask the new master if help might be available, but as she saw the servants exiting the carriage, she took a sigh of relief.

  She knew nothing of the reason why all of these people were descending upon the rectory—which she would have to remember to begin referring to as the vicarage—at once, and with her previous master’s departure only that morning, it was all a bit unsettling; but she knew that a square was a square and a circle a circle; in other words, all would settle down in its place in time. She had shed a few tears at the loss of Mr. Hargrove, but Mrs. Persimmon was a woman of high energy, and she bounced back from setbacks quickly. Further, she lived upon being needed; and she was elated at the change in the vicarage that was happening.

  By the time Mr. O’Brien made his way to the front door, she could almost have kissed his face. “Sir!” she exclaimed. “Might I be allowed to say how very welcome you are to this establishment? How wonderful it is, to have you here directly!” She made a small motion, so that he looked past her to the butler and the maid, the other servants of the place. The butler bowed, holding back a smile; and the maid curtseyed, though the incoming parade she could see on the walkway, and behind her new master, set her heart beating in a flurry. What a great deal of work she was in for!

  Mrs. Perler came in directly after the new curate; Mrs. Persimmon almost melted at sight of the infant. But she had a sudden thought: “Mr. O’Brien, sir! You did say you were an unmarried gentleman, did you not?” She was eyeing the infant with wide eyes.

  Mrs. Perler blushed, and he answered, “I am an unmarried gentleman.” He motioned to the baby and the woman. “This is Mr. Mornay’s child, and the children’s nurse. I will explain all to you shortly, Mrs. Persimmon. The order of the day right now is to find rooms for all of our guests. In the meantime, send a servant to the village—and there are a number of them come with us, who will help you in everything—to put together a dinner for us.”

  From behind him, a maid spoke up. She was a kitchen maid, helper to Cook, and she said, with an earnest countenance, “Oh, sir, Cook says she’ll be sending over the meal, for she ’as enough for a regiment, sir, and no bodies to eat it at all!” Mrs. Persimmon was already counting the little crew of servants from Aspindon, with excitement. “Very good, very good!” she repeated.

  To the servants, she added, “Go with Bessie, here, then, and she’ll show you to your quarters where you can leave your things. Then hurry down to help our guests!” She paused. “Mr. Sykes, see that our guests are shown to the drawing room and given our finest bohea! I will settle them in their guest chambers soon enough, if you please.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the butler replied, with a deep and proper nod of the head. It was easy to ascertain that Mrs. Persimmon was the head of the staff in this household.

  Mr. O’Brien was welcoming the Forsythe ladies, and then Mrs. Royleforst and Miss Bluford into his abode. Ah! How good it felt, to be master of the house! His own establishment! The papers hadn’t all been filed, yet, but here he was! It was a miracle.

  Mr. Barton plopped down upon a sofa in his house, and exclaimed to his sister. “Thank goodness we got through that business without having to entertain the lot of them! Quite a production that would have been. Would have sent me to Bedlam, I’m sure!”

  “Tristan.” Her quiet rebuke made him look up, innocently.

  “Did you actually wish to have that whole lot here? With us? Farewell to peace and quiet, then!”

  “Since when have you ever sought or required peace and quiet?” she asked. “And what do you intend to do with yourself now that Mr. Mornay is in quarantine with his wife?”

  Barton was silent for a minute, eyeing her while he considered the matter. He had kept his hat and was absently tossing it into the air and catching it while he lay back, his feet upon a table.

  “May I remove your boots, sir?” It was his manservant, who served as butler, footman, and valet, all in one.

  “Goodness, no! I shan’t stay home for long!” To his sister, he continued, “I’m going to the vicarage to see if I may offer my services. With all the moving in and other business going on, this ought to be a diversion.” He yawned.

  “Offer your services?” she asked doubtfully. “Get in the way, is more like. You ought to give them time to be settled properly, before adding to the commotion.”

  At that moment the manservant was back, and he held a letter upon a salver, which he offered to his master, saying, “For you, sir. Just arrived—b
y special messenger.”

  Barton took the missive, spied the seal, and sat up quickly. “Did you pay the man? Does he await a reply?”

  “I directed him to the kitchens for refreshment, sir. He will carry a reply.”

  He paused while Barton tore open the seal, exclaiming, “It’s from the Regent, Anne! What did I tell you? He writes to me! Me!”

  “If I may, sir,” the servant said. “Since you have only carriage horses, the man will need to rest his horse for some time before he returns to London.”

  Barton was already reading, and his face crumpled at the brevity of the note. He made no answer to his servant.

  “What does he say?” asked Anne.

  “He wants an answer from Mornay.” Barton’s face was frowning. “Dash it, but I’ve made precious little progress on that head.”

  Anne was silent a moment. “Tristan, no man in his right mind will turn down a peerage—or any title. Mr. Mornay is a peculiar sort of person, to be sure, but he is imminently practical. I cannot expect that your mission can do anything but succeed.”

  Barton surveyed his sister, meeting her eyes. “Are you suggesting I give the prince a reason to hope?”

  “Yes!” She looked very decided. “Would he deny his chance for his wife to be ‘Lady Mornay’? Or ‘Lady Something-or-other’? He has a son and heir! Would he deny his son the chance to inherit a title? To sit in Parliament? Nay. I think not.”

  Tristan slowly smiled. “You know, Anne, you are proving your worth to me.”

  She did not smile in return.

  “Does that not please you?” he asked, perplexed.

  She looked up. “I should never have to prove my worth to you, Tristan. I am your sister. Your flesh and blood.” She returned her eyes to her knitting, which she had instinctively picked up after sitting down. “I do worry about you! About who you are as a man, in your secret heart of hearts! You do not respect me, for you did not respect mother. And how can you think to make any woman happy as your wife?”

  He almost laughed, blanching. “Upon my word, Anne! You do draw the most confounding conclusions!” When she just continued to knit in silence, he added, with a mildly troubled look upon his face, “I daresay, men do not marry to make a wife happy; they marry to be made happy themselves! The woman was made for the man, not man for the woman! Where do you form your preposterous opinions?”

  She met his gaze evenly. “I am glad, by God, that I should never be your wife. I pity the creature who is.”

  This angered him. He got up and shook out his shoulders, smoothing down his apparel. “I did nothing to deserve that! And I pity you, for you shall never be any man’s wife! No one marries a soiled woman.” He turned and looked at her intently. “Mind you how you speak to your brother, Miss Barton! Your welfare is in my hands, I remind you!”

  He paused, nettled to see that she had heard him without making the least gesture of sorrow or regret for her behavior. To his frustration, she was not even done with him, and said, “If you do not care for your family, you are worse than an infidel or a heathen!”

  He let out a breath of derision. “I will not abide this.” And with that, he strode from the room. He went first to his bedchamber, where he had stowed some foolscap and a quill and ink. He wrote, after thinking for a moment, “To His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent. I am highly gratified, sir, to have the best of news to impart to you…”

  Nineteen

  Ariana was red-eyed and crying when Mr. Mornay found her. She had been unable to stay in the bedchamber but had been drawn, inexorably, as a moth is drawn to a candle’s flame, toward the large Venetian window which overlooked the frontage of the estate. It was going to hit her very hard to watch the others leaving, but she could not stay away.

  So she stood there, standing off to one side so that Nigel would not spy her, and saw the departure of her relations. Her servants. Her son and daughter. She felt well in mind and body, and it was too, too unfair, this terrible result of a morning’s walk on the property! She was being treated like an outcast, a leper!

  When Phillip came up to her, his eyes were filled with compassion, and she turned to him with a sob in her throat and fell into his arms. “I am not ill!” she cried. “T’isn’t fair! To be separated from my babies! And now, to keep you apart from them too!”

  He held her up against him in a tight embrace. She sobbed into his shoulder, “No one even said good-bye! I feel like an outcast!”

  He gently broke apart from her enough to see her face. “I forbade them. They are with the children! What use is there in this separation if they have contact with you, first?”

  After a moment, in which her face appeared as forlorn as before, she frowned saying, “You’re right! I know it! But I still feel like an out…outcast!” She could not help but to keep crying.

  And just when everything had been going delightfully! Her mother and sister and Aunt Royleforst, all exulting in the children; now Mr. O’Brien was taking the curacy of their neighbouring parish; and even the appearance of the Bartons (though she had her doubts about Mr. Barton) was still a positive happenstance. They had been able to hold their own little ball without the worries of having to entertain a crowd of London personages! Dancing at Aspindon House most often occurred only at Harvest Home, or Christmas Hall and Twelfth Night festivities. This had been an elegant little affair without all the noise of the villagers. She adored it.

  But now all was ruined. She was being quarantined, and for what purpose? Because of a chance encounter with Mrs. Taller! She still felt terribly sorry for the woman, but she was unable to shake the thought that if she had only not ventured outdoors, none of this would be happening. And there had been every reason to stay inside. For one, it was extremely cold outdoors. She might have called for the children and spent that time happily playing with Nigel and watching his blossoming relationship with his Aunt Royleforst and his grandmother.

  But no, it was too late.

  A feeling of impending tragedy fell upon her. She was like Queen Gertrude, who had just sipped from the cup of poison, though the king tried to stop her in time. She was at death’s door. No, she was like those poor people of Siloam, who were out walking, just like any other day, when the tower of Siloam suddenly fell, crushing them all in a moment! Mrs. Taller had been her tower of Siloam. It was not a comforting thought. Perhaps she was (not for the first time) like Jepthah’s daughter! Sweet innocence, so wrongly repaid! Why, oh why, had she stepped out of the house? Why had she not turned back when her mother spoke of the cold?

  She was a headstrong, foolish girl! And she clung to her husband in her grief.

  All she had was Phillip. He was still holding her, but he gently began to caress her neck with small, soft kisses. She stopped crying. It felt suddenly different, being almost alone with him in the large house.

  She pushed slightly away, and surveyed him with her large eyes, still red-rimmed from crying. Her nose was pink, and her cheeks, and he had to smile a little, for he always found her adorable when she’d been upset. He said, “Do not forget that we are only quarantined for a matter of a few days. You are crying as though we’d lost our children forever.”

  She sniffed. “It feels that way.”

  “We must endeavour to pass the time in some useful employment, or we shall both go mad.”

  “I agree. I am already Jepthah’s daughter!”

  “What, again?” His look of concern was genuine. “Anyone else?”

  “Queen Gertrude.”

  “Ah. The poisoned cup.”

  “Yes.”

  He waited. “That cannot be all.”

  “No, I was at Siloam when the tower fell.”

  “Of course.” He smiled.

  She sighed. “Mrs. Taller was my tower of Siloam, I’m afraid!”

  He kissed her neck again, and then her face, and was chuckling lightly. She suddenly felt somewhat lighter of heart too. It was so wonderful to have him to share her dark imaginings. He understood these moments, whe
n dark fears assailed her, and there seemed to be a cloud of gloom hanging over her. No, it was more than that—a cloud of doom. And it felt inevitable. But Phillip knew how to put his finger on her fears, and his amusement somehow reduced their power over her. It was vastly comforting.

  She took his cravat in her hands and played with it, or seemed to, only when she gave it a final light tug, it fell apart. “I love undoing your cravats,” she murmured. “You have a marvelous neck, Mr. Mornay, and though I admire your skill at the cloth, I admire your neck even more.”

  He was smiling, and he suddenly swung her into his strong arms, and carried her, moving toward their grand bedchamber. “Yes?” he said, making her grin back at him, for she could never resist that full, handsome smile, “Is there more you admire that I may know?”

  She giggled. “You should ask if there is something I do not admire about you, and then perhaps I could settle upon an answer.”

  For response, he kissed her, lifting her head up with his arm to reach his head.

  “I should rather you let me tell you what I admire in you, then.” Ariana had heard this before, of course, many times, but the words he used when appreciating her traits aloud were like nectar to her heart.

  “By all means!”

  He was walking while he carried her. He said, “Where shall I begin? I have it! I admire you ardently, passionately, and,” he paused, and eyed her with love, “with my whole heart.” Already she was melting at his tone.

  “You feed my heart when you say such things.”

  “Then allow me to offer you a banquet.” He paused, eyeing her in between watching their progress through the house. “Your eyes, your nose, your mouth, your ears, your neck—you are like an exquisite sculpture, only far better, being wholly of flesh, and entirely—mine.”

  “Yes, utterly yours.”

  He now stopped at the chamber door, managing to open it with his hands though he would not put her down. Still smiling as they entered the room, he kissed her again. And then closed the bedchamber door behind them.