The Country House Courtship

by Linore Rose Burkard

  Twenty-Eight

  Just as he was leading the horses to the sleigh, which had taken far longer than he hoped, for there was no groom in the stables, Mr. O’Brien heard yells in the distance. He had two horses in hand, each by the reins below the head, and he looked around frantically for a place to tie one so that he could mount the other. He hadn’t saddled it for riding, and it was slippery from the weather, but he had to get to Beatrice as quickly as possible. He didn’t ask himself how he knew it was Beatrice. He didn’t stop to think it might have been a sound of merriment, or glee. He wrapped the reins of the second horse quickly around a post, and hurried to mount the first animal.

  There was a whinny of protest, and the horse reared up. Mr. O’Brien was at the end of his patience, for suddenly it came to him that Miss Forsythe was in danger, and here this animal had the audacity to give him grief. He stalked to the head of the beast, and spoke very closely to its face, holding it strongly by the reins.

  “You listen to me, sir!” he said, through gritted teeth. It was a tone of voice that would have astounded anyone familiar with him, for he had never in his life used it before. “You will allow me to mount you and you will take me to my bride!”

  It was an astonishing thing for him to have said, for he hardly knew that Beatrice Forsythe had to be his bride, but, of course, she did. He left the horse’s head and scrambled up a bit sloppily. The horse moved about on its legs for balance, but behaved for him, and he got on!

  He turned it at once and went in the direction of the front of the house.

  Meanwhile, Beatrice was trying to slow down Mr. Barton at every turn. He had growled at his coachman, “On the double, Jarvey,” which told her immediately that the man was a jarvis, a stand-in coachman, not a long-time servant! So she cried out to him, “Oh, sir! This man would have you a criminal for him!”

  “Be quiet, Beatrice!” Mr. Barton said, annoyed, as he tried to push her into the carriage.

  She clung to the door for dear life. “Do not do his bidding!” she gasped, as loudly as she could. “You’ll end up on a gibbet, while he will go free!”

  Mr. Barton doubled his grasp on her, while yelling up at the coachman, “I’ll pay you fifty pounds for taking us to Scotland! I’ll pay you on arrival!”

  “Ye’ll pay me first, sir,” the man replied, in his own low growl.

  “I cannot pay you while I must keep hold of this young woman!”

  “What are you doing, Mr. Barton?” cried Beatrice, in a strained tone that caught his attention. “I am no prize for you! Have you lost your senses?”

  He hesitated, and the truth came out. “I’ll be brother to Mr. Mornay if we wed, and that is good enough for me!”

  “Yes, but if you force me to this, he’ll be in your life forever, but as a thorn in your flesh! Think of it, sir! No one who incurs his wrath can be happy around him again! Do you truly wish to ruin your life at so young an age?”

  She saw more hesitation on his face. In the back of her mind she thought she heard the sound of horses’ hooves, lightly, in the snow, but as from a distance. She spoke quickly. “Mr. Mornay will be your brother, indeed; but he will be an Esau to you! You will need to fear him all the days of your life!”

  His shoulders slumped. What she said made perfect sense, given who Mr. Mornay was. There had been rumours of the man finding religion, but Mr. Barton could not say they were true. He saw no softening of the features on the man, no difference in the famously caustic nature. Other people, many other people, would have disputed those very claims with utter accuracy and sincerity, but not Mr. Barton. For some reason he had never found favour with the man.

  Perhaps it was because he was capable of doing what he was doing; namely, abducting Miss Forsythe to force her into marriage, that Mornay had only extended a cautious friendship. Of course, Mr. Mornay could not have known that he would do this! But the man had never given up a sense of caution he had formed regarding him—Barton could feel it—and now he was giving justification to Mornay’s concerns. He didn’t mean to be doing so. If Mr. Mornay had only welcomed him as a brother, none of this would have had to happen!

  How was it that all of these thoughts could run swiftly through his mind? Beatrice was staring at him, wide-eyed, and darting glances this way and that, seeking a way of escape. She could sense his hesitation, and she said, “Do not make yourself an enemy in Mr. Mornay. You will live to regret it for many a day, sir!” Just as she was shrugging herself free from his grasp, the jarvis, (who all this time was listening) comprehended that his fifty pounds was about to vanish. Suddenly he was very content to be paid on arrival, and in a loud cry to alert the man who had hired him that night, he yelled, “Get ’er stowed, sir!” And, “We’re off!”

  With a loud crack of the ribbons, they took off, though even the horses were slipping on the icy pavement. Beatrice and Mr. Barton both went tumbling into the carriage to the floor; Mr. Barton was practically upon her. Through the noise of the creaking carriage and the horses in the snow, Beatrice still felt she could make out a different sound, a different tempo, and there, at the window, from her spot on the floor, she saw the face of Mr. O’Brien appear. Oh, that angelic face! He was going to rescue her!

  He was looking in, but not toward the floor; Mr. Barton was just getting to his feet and he held out a hand to her, and—apologized.

  “I am sorry, my dear Miss Forsythe,” he said, above all the sounds. “It seems that the world has decided that we must wed. I promise you, I was going to release you!”

  “Turn this carriage around at once!” she cried. Behind his head, through the window, there was only darkness. What had happened to her angel? And then, he was there again, and their eyes met, and she knew that he had some plan. Beatrice took her seat and held on to the edge of it. Mr. Barton noted her action, but did not guess at what was behind it.

  “I believe,” he said, moving slightly nearer to her, “that you will, in time, learn to love me. And then you will convince Mr. Mornay to do the same. You will tell him how happy you are now that I did this, don’t you see? It’s all for the best!”

  But the horses started whinnying and suddenly the coach was rocking crazily but began to slow down. Mr. Barton looked struck by surprise, for he had no idea what was happening. He reached out and grasped one of her hands, as though to reassure her, only Beatrice pulled it instantly away. Then, to her horror, she heard a report at close range! Oh my word! What if Mr. O’Brien is killed!

  There was the sound of a thump upon the road, and the coach slowed to a stop. Unbeknownst to both the occupants of the carriage, the jarvis who had fired off a shot while trying to keep his perch atop the board had fallen instantly backward, and was knocked unconscious by the fall. His shot had missed Mr. O’Brien by a wide margin and gone off harmlessly in the air.

  Beatrice was holding her head in her hands. She could not make herself look to see who had been hurt. If it was Mr. O’Brien, she would not be able to bear it. Not when she might have admitted to him far sooner that she held him in such high regard. Indeed, she loved him! She might have had him for a short time only, but now he could be lost forever! Her own foolishness and pride were to blame!

  Mr. Barton had a look on his face that was only mildly less apprehensive, for he knew nothing of Mr. O’Brien being about, and assumed it was Mornay. When nothing happened, no one opened the door, he bit his lip and turned, and slowly opened it himself. Nothing. He glanced at Beatrice, and she saw that he was apprehensive. He gave the door a good kick, making it swing wide, and letting in a blast of cold air, but that was all. No sound of anyone being about. No movement other than the wind.

  He looked at Beatrice with a puzzled expression. She raised her head, but just sat there looking terribly sad.

  “I’ll take a look,” he said. But as soon as he moved to the door, she started to follow him, only she heard a loud thud, and then saw Mr. Barton stop, rock unsteadily on his legs for a moment, his head tottering, and then he fell forward, knocked out c
old, onto the snowy road. Frightened, she stepped back a foot inside the carriage. Outside, Mr. O’Brien nodded in a satisfied manner at the prone body on the ground, for the second Barton ventured forth from the interior, he had given Mr. Barton a quick right jab to the head, using every ounce of his strength.

  Now he poked his own head into the carriage, after shoving aside Barton’s feet (for they had landed on the steps, which had fallen down by some odd fluke during the chase), and saw Beatrice peering apprehensively out at him. Her look changed into a smile. “Oh! My dear sir!” she cried, moving forward at once. She could hardly come forth speedily enough, and he took her exuberantly around the waist to hand her down. With her feet upon the ground, Beatrice could only continue to stare up at him, at dear, dear, Peter O’Brien, and her eyes watered; and when he said, “Are you all right, Miss Forsythe?” she cried, “No! I am not right! I have been a fool!” The truths she had been hiding came spilling out. “I have said I wanted a man of wealth and standing, when what I really want is you!”

  And that was enough. That one declaration, in the end, was all she had to say to explain herself to him. He swept her up into his arms and bent his head (and his hat fell off though it had stayed on for all this time) and kissed Miss Beatrice Forsythe upon the lips. For a few seconds, the world was soft and sweet, even warm. They smiled at each other, in the approaching dark, and could see they were smiling because of the snow. Then he kissed her again, and then again. He said, “And I am in love with you. Will you be my wife, Beatrice? Little Beatrice Forsythe, who promised to marry me when you were twelve; will you indeed marry me?”

  “Of course I shall!”

  “I have little to offer you, I am well aware—”

  “Shussh,” she said, putting one gloved finger against his lips. “You have everything to offer me that I need. Forgive me for not realizing it sooner.”

  “There is nothing to forgive!”

  Mr. Mornay was glad that he thought to check on his future relation. Somehow he was beginning to feel fond of the man—astounding! After twenty minutes had gone by, he left the house just to be certain that the clergyman and his young sister-in-law had not fallen into any trouble out in the cold. But when he saw the sleigh, abandoned right outside the mews, and a single horse tethered nearby, he had to suppress a groan. What on earth had happened this time? He put the horse into its stall and threw a blanket over it, then mounted Tornado to find out what was what.

  He followed the tracks of the carriage wheels and horses’ hooves in the snow, slowing only when he spied the vehicle ahead, no longer moving. He slowly clip-clopped his way toward it, cautiously, noting that the carriage was Mr. Barton’s. He felt a small apprehension—was Barton up to something? He then saw a man lying on the side of the road. He did not know who it was, but he could also see, on the other side of the carriage, another man face down in the snow. As he came up to the vehicle, he noticed the couple standing close against it. So Mr. O’Brien had finally made his declaration!

  It was about time.

  Epilogue

  The wedding was set for the following week.

  But today the couple strolled arm in arm, hazarding again the great outdoors on the Aspindon property in the chilly weather. Neither seemed to mind.

  “How did Mr. Mornay know that you would return my love?” Mr. O’Brien asked.

  Beatrice stopped to look up into the eyes of the tall, handsome clergyman, soon to be her husband—and soon to be the vicar of Glendover, as well.

  “I think,” she said, “it was when I cried off from wanting a Season in London!”

  They both laughed lightly.

  He was relishing the sight of her pretty face, the little russet curls peeking out from her bonnet, knowing that they were soon to be man and wife.

  They walked on, their steps quickening due to the cold. Beatrice was wearing thick woolen stockings, but even so, could feel the intrusion of the weather. Finally they came out to the clearing, and Beatrice exclaimed, “We’ve made it! There’s the house again!”

  It was still the same cheerful cottage, cozy looking, sweet—but small.

  Beatrice’s smile faltered and she sighed. “I must confess, I know that the glebe here is greater; and the living is double the value of Warwickdon; but I daresay it would be far more comfortable at the vicarage there than at this little house.”

  He turned puzzled eyes upon hers.

  “Than at this house? But of course you know we won’t be living here?” He suddenly started to chuckle.

  “What! Why do you laugh?”

  “This house, little Beatrice, is for the circulating warden in these parts. Glendover’s vicarage is far more spacious and grand than the one at Warwickdon! The only thing it lacks,” he said, with a little smile, “is a family beneath its spacious rafters, which, I dare to hope we will redress in good time.”

  She blushed, but was shaking with laughter. “You mean that all this time I thought the warden’s house was the parsonage? And no one ever set me right?”

  “I didn’t realize your misapprehension!” he cried. But he took her into his arms, after taking a quick look around them to make sure they were alone.

  He was about to kiss her when she said, “Mr. O’Brien, would you be so kind as to see if that door is unlocked?”

  “What, to the cottage?” he asked, in surprise.

  “My feet! I can’t feel them again!”

  “If I take you in there now, Mornay will have my head!”

  “If you do not, I will have no feet!” she giggled.

  “You are very fortunate, Miss Forsythe,” he said with another small laugh.

  “Why is that?” she asked.

  He bent and lifted her into his arms, and began walking comfortably to the right of the path, along the line of the woods. Their faces were now only inches apart.

  “Because this time, I came prepared.”

  He put her down gently inside a sleigh where blankets awaited, wrapped her feet snugly inside a great thick one; and then climbed in himself, put one arm about her shoulders, and slapped the reins lightly to get the horses moving.

  “How on earth…?” she asked, surprised and delighted.

  “I arranged it all earlier with your brother-in-law’s assistance.”

  “You were lucky that it snowed again,” she said mischievously.

  “And you were lucky that Mr. Mornay gave me a set-down for having the audacity to suggest taking you out for a walk in such weather.”

  “I wondered how you got use of the sleigh!”

  He laughed. “He forced my promise to use it coming back, which I desired to do in any case. I owed you a sleigh ride since our last attempt was unsuccessful.”

  They both knew he was alluding to the evening of Barton’s desperate and bungled attempt to whisk her off to Scotland.

  After a pause, he said, “Do you suppose we shall ever live in peace with him so close by?”

  “Once we are wed, he will put all his attention back to his own family,” she said. “I am quite sure of it.”

  There was a comfortable silence while they glided on, and the world was all beautiful and white.

  With an impulsive burst of gladness, Beatrice snuggled closer against him at which Mr. O’Brien thought he might burst with happiness. He had his girl! He had not one, but two livings! Two of them! He was no longer a mere curate, but would be a vicar! God was so good! And to think that without Mr. Mornay, none of this would be possible!

  Pulling him back from his thoughts, Beatrice said, “Do you know, there is one thing I regret?”

  With a pang, he wondered if she was going to confess that she did want to go to London after all; or that she had second thoughts about giving up ideas of grandeur. But instead she said, “That you won’t have to rub my numb feet back to life!”

  He laughed out loud and pressed her closer to his side. “My little Beatrice,” he said, into her ear. “I will be delighted to do so; after our wedding, I will be happy to do that, an
d much more.”

  The horses pulled them smoothly along the wide trail, and Aspindon came back into view. They both came to attention as the shape of a man upon a horse was suddenly ahead of them.

  “Upon my word,” said Beatrice, “I do believe he’s checking on us!”

  “Why hasn’t he been off to London yet? To finally accept the title? I would think that gaining a viscountcy would give him reason enough to leave his home for a day.”

  “And risk having us out of his sight? Out of his watchful eye? Being a viscount seems nothing to him while we are as yet unmarried, and in need of chaperonage—or so he must think. He takes us for the veriest youths, as though we have no idea of propriety.”

  Mr. O’Brien gazed at Mr. Mornay getting swiftly closer, and shook his head, but there was a little smile upon his mouth. “Heaven help us. And God bless him!”

  Discussion Questions

  1. What aspect of the courtship (romance) between Mr. O’Brien and Miss Beatrice Forsythe did you most enjoy?

  2. Do you think Beatrice will make a good wife for a vicar? Why or why not?

  3. How did Mr. Barton actually help Beatrice (without meaning to) to realize “what matters most” in life?

  4. If Beatrice had stuck to her earliest goals of marrying a wealthy man, of social climbing and pleasure-seeking, how do you think she would have felt in five years’ time?

  5. If you were to visit Regency England, would you prefer to see London during the Season, or to stay at a country estate like Aspindon?

  6. In your opinion, should Mr. Mornay have been stronger during his wife’s illness? Or did he react in much the same way you would, given the circumstances? What are God’s means of reaching us during times like these so that we can always have hope?

  7. When Mr. O’Brien suspects the truth regarding Anne Barton’s condition, he is filled with compassion and wants to help her if he can. Would you have shared his reaction? Would you have wanted to censure her? Why or why not?