“A lady can procure most anything here, and in the first style of elegance and fashion,” said Mrs. Bentley. Looking around at the numerous laden shelves and counters, Ariana did not doubt it.
They purchased six pairs of gloves, which Mrs. Bentley insisted was necessary; two three-quarter-length white satin for ball use, two of eggshell white for other entertainments, and two buff leather for walking out and informal occasions. The list was consulted: a few fans, a half-dozen embroidered floral starched white handkerchiefs, silk ribbons, artificial flowers (for use on bonnets and headdresses), stockings, and chemises—all purchased in a flurry of quick decisions which left Ariana astonished.
They were looking through a selection of very fine shawls when a woman’s deep voice was heard, and Mrs. Bentley, without so much as looking up, hissed, “Good heavens! ’Tis Cecelia Worthington. She has not an original thought in her head!” Curious, Ariana turned to see a stout woman with dark hair coming their way. With her was a younger dark-haired woman, who managed to maintain an appearance of smiling smugness throughout their encounter. Both women wore large, cavernous bonnets.
“Mrs. Bentley! How delightful to see you!”
“And you, Mrs. Worthington.” She added “Miss Worthington,” with barely a nod to the young woman. The ladies curtseyed automatically, as did Ariana.
“I notice you are not alone,” said the lady, looking curiously at Ariana. “Imagine my amazement when Sophia spotted you with this young woman. Ah, said I. Sophia darling, Mrs. Bentley has finally got herself a companion, the very thing I have told her to do numerous times. I am so pleased you have listened to reason, Mrs. Bentley.”
“I do not have a companion, Mrs. Worthington.” Mrs. Bentley’s tone was cold, and she blinked condescendingly at the lady. “This,” she said, motioning to Ariana, “is my niece. Allow me to present to you, my gel.” And then, speaking to Ariana she said in introduction, “Mrs. Cecelia Worthington, and Miss Worthington.” The Worthingtons curtseyed again, this time with indignation.
“My niece, Miss Forsythe,” she concluded. Ariana curtseyed politely, though her cheeks were rosy due to the manner of the introduction. Mrs. Bentley had introduced the Worthingtons to her, instead of the other way around, as if she were the superior party, when in fact, as the newcomer and younger person, Ariana should have been presented to Mrs. Worthington. Not to mention that her aunt had named her as Miss Forsythe, signifying that she was the eldest daughter in her family, whereas she properly should be introduced as Miss Ariana Forsythe.
Mrs. Worthington was ruffled, but her curiosity was greater than her indignation and she asked, startled, “Your niece?” Her large eyes surveyed Ariana amazedly and her mouth nearly hung open. “I do not recall you having a niece, I clearly do not recall such a thing!”
“She is my only brother’s child, I assure you, one of four, all of whom I may bring out at the proper time.” Mrs. Bentley had not actually given any recent thought to whether she would bring out her other nieces, but it had struck her as advantageous to say so.
“Miss Forsythe,” Mrs. Bentley continued, “is my first contribution to society and I must say I am greatly looking forward to having her received in all the finest drawing rooms in town.”
Mrs. Worthington was still wide-eyed, but she picked up a little lorgnette she had hanging around her neck on a chain, and peered at Ariana through it. She took in the adorable face with a slight sinking feeling in her breast; the chit was going to outshine her own Sophia, that was sure. She next wondered if Ariana held a fortune, which would nail the matter entirely. A homely heiress was bad enough, but if this Miss Forsythe had both figure and fortune, why, there was nothing she could do to help her child at all. Not a thing.
“And I suppose…she brings with her a great dowry?” Her face wrinkled in fear of the reply, and sure enough, Mrs. Bentley supplied the information that, “Of course! She is my relation, is she not?”
Ariana forced herself not to contradict her aunt before strangers, but she would certainly have to speak with her on this subject. She knew for a fact that her dowry was middling, nothing to get in raptures over, and certainly not a sum to be called “great.”
Mrs. Worthington let out an unconscious sigh. “Yes, I daresay, I daresay.” It was a reluctant acceptance of Miss Forsythe’s superior standing compared to her own daughter, who was merely somewhat pretty, though pale, and had a decent dowry, but nothing next to the amount she began to imagine Miss Forsythe must have.
Coming to her senses, she gushed, “My dear Miss Forsythe, you must know my Sophia! She is quite the little spy and will keep you abreast of all the latest happenings. Sophia quite prides herself upon being informed, do you not, my dear?”
Sophia nodded proudly and was about to say something when Mrs. Bentley interjected, taking Ariana’s arm. “I am afraid, Cecelia, that we must finish shopping.”
“We, too,” Mrs. Worthington said at once. She proceeded to trail Ariana and her aunt, keeping up a stream of questions and conversation. Ariana made an attempt to speak with Miss Worthington, but the young lady was intently following what her mama and Mrs. Bentley were saying. A little spy, indeed, Ariana thought.
Mrs. Worthington never stopped talking, but managed nevertheless to stare sharply at every item or bauble purchased by Mrs. Bentley, and then had her daughter do the same. Ariana’s chaperon, intent on her shopping, didn’t seem to notice. At a counter displaying trinkets, Ariana’s aunt picked out an unattractive brooch—quite out of character for her, and Ariana shrank at the thought of wearing it but said nothing out of respect for her relation. Holding it up, however, Mrs. Bentley praised it as just the thing to go with a certain gown she had in mind. The item was duly purchased by both parties.
Afterward, the younger lady suddenly asked, “Shall we meet again next weekend, Miss Forsythe? You are of course invited to Aspindon?
Ariana finished paying for a pair of delicate tortoiseshell combs she had chosen for Alberta, and replied, “Aspindon?” It sounded familiar, but she wasn’t certain.
Miss Worthington smiled. “Do not say that Mrs. Bentley has not had an invitation? What a pity; perhaps Mama can put in a word for her with Mrs. Royleforst. It’s all her doing, you know.”
“I think my aunt did mention an invitation from Mrs. Royleforst.”
“Oh, my dear,” the girl said, as if she were speaking to a much younger person, “if she had, you’d be certain of it! Mrs. Royleforst, you must know, is Mr. Mornay’s aunt! Everyone knows,” she said, lifting her eyes heavenward, “that Mr. Mornay would sooner die than host a large party himself. And there is great talk that he may not show—at his own estate! Can you imagine?”
She waited to see if Ariana could.
She then continued, “I hope he does show up, it’s bound to be exciting, then. Of course I’d never speak to him myself, but I adore looking at him!” She smiled again.
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Worthington murmured, just then. “Come, Sophia darling, I see your papa! We must go!” Miss Worthington bobbed a curtsey while her mama rapidly expressed her hopes of seeing Ariana and her aunt again soon, and then they were off. Mrs. Worthington’s loud tones could be heard fading as they went. Ariana’s aunt made a few more purchases while Ariana bought hair ribbons to send home to her little sisters, which she placed in the paper that held Alberta’s combs.
Before leaving, her aunt returned to the trinket counter and demanded to return the brooch she had just bought.
“I did think it a fright!” Ariana said in relief.
“I bought it so Mrs. Worthington would also. I daresay we may expect to see Sophia wearing it at some great affair. ’Twill serve her for copying me!” As they walked back to the carriage, followed by a footman carrying their boxes and packages, Ariana reflected on the mean-spirited act, greatly surprised by it. Suddenly remembering the conversation of Miss Worthington, she asked, “Do you know a Mr. Mornay?” Her aunt stopped in her tracks. Putting one hand upon her heart, she replied, “
I do! Do you know him?” Her eyes, which were small, had become large in her face.
Surprised at the reaction, Ariana said, “No, indeed! I only ask in reference to something Miss Worthington mentioned.”
“My word! You startled me!” cried her aunt, who now began walking again.
They stopped in a shop for half-boots and pattens. During the fitting Mrs. Bentley gave an opinion on how fashionable young ladies must have a great deal of footwear: shoes, boots, half-boots, pattens for rainy or snowy days, and, of course, slippers. Many pairs of slippers. Delicate satin was favoured for evening wear, and upon hearing that Ariana had brought only one pair (for her others were too worn), her aunt insisted she would need at least a half-dozen more.
They took the carriage to Oxford Street for the last stop of the day, a millinery shop, where Ariana tried on numerous bonnets. When they found one similar to the engraving in the catalogue, Ariana could not help feeling elated, despite it being so dear. A genuine peacock feather! Her head was swimming with all the new finery, but as they left, Ariana had one request of her aunt.
“May we stop at a bookshop, Aunt, before we return to the house?” Ariana was hoping to find a copy of one of Mrs. Burney’s novels, having neglected to bring any with her. The Forsythes had never espoused the idea that novel reading was worthless, and Mrs. Burney’s sympathetic female characters appealed to Ariana greatly.
Her aunt looked perplexed. “A bookshop? Whatever for? Not today, my dear. I’m fagged.”
When they had returned to the carriage, Ariana had barely seated herself when her aunt turned her full attention to her niece.
“Now, tell me every word Sophia Worthington said regarding Mr. Mornay!” As the carriage rolled away from the curb, Ariana related the conversation to her aunt as best she remembered.
“Of course we shall be at Aspindon!” Aunt Bentley sputtered. “Impudent child!”
“What is Aspindon?”
During the rest of the ride home, her aunt filled her in on the mystery of Mr. Phillip Mornay, and Aspindon, his huge estate in Middlesex.
“Phillip Mornay,” she said, after a few moments, “is the Paragon. Only Brummel, poor man, could hold a candle to him, but he of course is in the duns. Almost ruined, in fact. I should not be surprised,” she admonished, “if he was to flee England tomorrow!” Even Ariana knew Beau Brummel was famous for his impeccable style, and for bringing the current men’s fashion of dark pantaloons and sober costume into being.
“Mr. Mornay is also a leader in fashion,” continued her aunt. “Though I grant he has no desire to be. The men copy him, however, from the way he ties his cravat to his style of shoe. What ninnies some men are!” She paused, looked at Ariana, and asserted, “The thing you must know about him, Ariana, is that he has no patience for young misses. It seems that every season there is a young female who is determined to ruin herself, and Mr. Mornay is obliging enough to provide her with the means.”
“How terrible!”
“No, not in the way you think,” she replied. “Mornay is a difficult, angry sort of man, and quite a favorite among the ton—but he never misuses a female bodily. I must grant him that. All he does, actually, is—well, nothing! He ignores the chit who is foolish enough to set her cap at him. And that is all he must do to assure her ruin. Her chances in society from then on are forever gone!”
“But why, Aunt Bentley? If there has been no impropriety?”
“Well, in some cases, the lady goes into a decline, though, mind you, I never believe in declines; I maintain they are a fiction for the purpose of arousing sympathy. But they rarely work.” She paused. “In other cases, it is simply because society loves to love Mornay! If he pointedly snubs a woman—or a man, for that matter—other people quickly follow suit. He is a rogue of the first order, not because he particularly tries to be, but because he makes no effort not to be.”
Her aunt drew out a handkerchief and wiped an imaginary drop of perspiration from her brow. “He is handsome, of great consequence, and unmarried. Were he married, I assure you, he would swiftly lose some of his power of influence.” To Ariana’s startled look, she added, “These are the ways, my gel, of society.”
Six
During supper that evening, Aspindon was again on Mrs. Bentley’s mind. “Mrs. Royleforst is playing hostess but it is unthinkable she would not require her nephew’s presence—after all, it is his estate. So pray, remember to give that man a wide berth.”
Ariana nodded.
“I daresay it will not be difficult for you; Mornay is ever discretionary and he manages to avoid more people than not. But keep in mind to stay away from him, because he can only mean trouble for a young lady.”
Ariana decided earnestly to follow her aunt’s advice in all points. She did not want trouble in any form, particularly on her first society outing.
Allowing a footman to put a serving of asparagus on her dish, she asked, “Will Mr. Pellham accompany us?”
Her aunt gave her a sideways glance. “Mr. Pellham does not…” she hesitated, choosing her words. “He does not endeavor to put himself forward.”
“You mean backwards,” a voice said, as Mr. Pellham himself entered the room. He was such a frequent visitor that his appearance was no longer announced by a servant, and both Ariana and Mrs. Bentley greeted him with smiles of pleasant surprise.
“It would be a great step backward for me to waste my time among a bunch of fops and lily-hoppers, who do nothing more than admire one another all day.” With an easy air of familiarity he sat down adjacent to Mrs. Bentley and continued, “What’s more, when they are not admiring each other, they are lambasting one another. I have no patience for such foolery.”
Ariana stifled a grin.
A footman offered Mr. Pellham a plate that he declined with a wave of his hand, but a decanter of some liquid was brought and poured into his glass as if in the usual manner.
“Randolph would rather spend a quiet evening before a fire with one of his treasured volumes than a week at the finest country house,” Aunt Bentley intoned dryly.
There was a silence, which Ariana broke by saying, “But fine country houses contain things that are worthy of admiration, even contemplation; paintings, old tapestries and styles of furniture, architecture. And old stories.”
“Quite true, my dear,” Mr. Pellham said, holding up his glass to Ariana. “I have no argument with touring the houses, it is having to talk with the owners which I find provoking.” He took a sip from the glass and said, “Now, if more young ladies had the education and sense I find in your niece, Mrs. B., perhaps I might feel differently.” Mrs. Bentley looked up from her food, which she had been absorbed in eating, but said nothing.
“Oh, dear,” Ariana replied. “Do not compare me to those in the finest houses. I am sure they must be better educated than I!”
Mr. Pellham shook his head. “No, my dear, you mistake the matter. You are thinking that refinement and money go hand in hand. I assure you that, more often than one would think, such is not the case. This is precisely my contention with the aristocracy. With all their money and influence, they should be making the inventions. Exploring the planet! Bettering the condition of mankind.” He gave a sidelong glance at Mrs. Bentley, who was paying him little heed. “Instead, they fuss over neckcloths and waistcoats and phaetons.”
“Randolph, you simply do not understand that these things are evidences of refinement.” Ariana’s aunt had been listening, after all. “Taste! Only the well-bred man or woman has it.”
“Bah!” He shook his head. “At any rate, Miss Ariana—”
“Randolph, you must address her as Miss Forsythe. I have quite decided upon her being Miss Forsythe.”
“But Aunt,” Ariana objected. “My sister is Miss Forsythe, Alberta, the eldest. I cannot use her address.”
Mrs. Bentley held up one hand. “I am determined upon this point, Ariana. I want no talk of your sister’s betrothal to a country squire; in fact, we must allow no talk of your e
lder sister at all, to be safe, which I assure you will occur if society knows you are not the eldest. And since your sister is not in London there is really no impropriety in using “Miss Forsythe” for your address. It is done, I assure you.”
Ariana felt indignant. It wasn’t done by her family, and she’d never heard of such a thing in Chesterton. She would write home and ask Mama’s opinion. She also felt defensive and her words confirmed it. “My sister’s betrothal is a proud fact, ma’am, and a triumph. Mr. Norledge is a Christian man above reproach, and from a fine old family.”
“He is from an old family, you say?” She sounded doubtful. “Well, that is all very good, but I assure you I am only doing what is best on your account. Do not be affronted, my gel. No lady without a title, in my opinion, can sound quite dignified if her first name must be given at every introduction. And young ladies, especially, do not want to give the impression of being missish any more than they must on account of their youth.”
“It does not seem honest, ma’am,” she said, plainly.
“If your sister was in London, I should agree with you. But on account of her being in Chesterton, there is no harm in your using the designation. Enough of this! You will quickly grow accustomed to it, and I must insist upon this while you are in my charge.” She studied her niece with a mildly dissatisfied expression. “In using this address for you I feel quite justified, for it is not misleading to allow anyone to think you are worthy of a high match, since you are indeed worthy on account of me. Talk of Squire Norledge could jeopardize our position. But there. Enough said.”
Before the Season Ends Page 5
