Worthy of a high match? Was that indeed her aunt’s goal for her? Papa had been right in guessing as much. She thrust the thought from her mind, reasoning that no husband could be forced upon her, aunt or no aunt; else her parents would not have let her come.
Mr. Pellham cleared his throat and said, “Let us return to our discussion of London sights. Miss Forsythe, you will tell me which places you most wish to see, and I will endeavour to assemble a schedule for us so that we might do as much as possible in an efficient manner.”
“How good of you, Mr. Pellham!” Ariana’s large, pretty eyes sparkled across the table at him. “I will make a list this very night!”
“Make your list if you must,” Mrs. Bentley said, “but, Randolph, I insist Ariana will do nothing but be at my disposal this week for fittings and shopping, and who knows but that we may pay a few morning calls?” She strove to sound patient, but everyone in the room knew she was taxed at the least discussion of cultural exhibits.
“Please recall, Randolph, that my niece’s purpose is to become a part of society, not to provide you with an excuse for roaming the town. I know you long to do so, but Ariana is accompanying me to Aspindon, and she must be prepared!”
Her tone clearly said, “End of discussion.” Mr. Pellham winked at Ariana and stroked his moustache.
“Aspindon…is that not Mr. Mornou’s estate?”
“ ’Tis Mr. Mornay’s estate. How can you ruin a beautiful name like Mornay?” She swallowed a bite of food, and added, “Just think! A picnic on the grounds of Aspindon! The cream of the ton will be there. All the finest food, I am certain. ’Tis a rare treat, even for me.”
Mrs. Bentley’s face lit up with the thought of the coming day. “And who knows but that Mrs. Royleforst has arranged for us to see some small portion of the mansion?”
“One can always hope,” Mr. Pellham said, in a droll voice. “Do be good enough to keep your niece far from that beast of a man.”
Mrs. Bentley finished the last bite of food on her plate and said, “Mr. Mornay is not agreeable, I grant. But he is no beast, Randolph.”
“Well,” he replied, drying his moustache with a linen napkin from the table, “in any case, when your outdoor picnic is over, perhaps Miss Forsythe and I can have our outing.”
Since her aunt did not object, Ariana remarked that she would be happy to do so, beginning, she thought, with the British Museum. “I have longed to see it,” she added, “since learning it was formerly Montagu House; they say the painted staircase alone is worth the trip. Did you know, Aunt, that the first Duke of Montagu kept his second wife there, a poor mad creature, hidden from all her relations, and convinced that she was the Empress of China?”
To their interested expressions, she continued, “The duke had masqueraded himself as the Emperor of China to win her hand because it came with a great fortune, and she was mad, and wouldn’t have anyone less. I have long wished to see the place.”
“The Empress of China!” laughed Mrs. Bentley. “Upon my word, I fancy accompanying you when you visit.”
“A capital idea, Mrs. B.!” Mr. Pellham was delighted. And so it was settled that the British Museum would be first on their agenda, and that Mrs. Bentley would join them, though artifacts and paintings, not Chinese Empresses, would be on the palate.
Early Friday morning, they were finally situated in Mrs. Bentley’s best traveling coach, en route to Middlesex and the picnic at Aspindon. Ariana was all excitement. The modiste had been able to complete only one good promenade, or walking-out dress, in so short a time, but it was a sweet confection of white jaconet muslin with pink trim on the sleeves, the empire waist, and skirt edge. It had a high collar edged with lace, and a ribbon sash that formed a bow in back. Beneath the bow was a frilly pink trim that ran down the length of the gown in two columns, accentuating Ariana’s tall, lithe figure. The sleeves were puffed and short, but there was a sturdy velvet spencer to wear over, which Ariana was especially thankful for, given the brisk weather.
She felt smart in her new clothing, and marveled at the luxurious attire upon her aunt, besides the comfort and elegance of the carriage. Mrs. Bentley wore a gown of figured silk, a matching turban with a fluffy ostrich feather, a good amount of jewels, and a gold-threaded shawl, which finished a look of comfortable opulence. She had a penchant for jewelery, but somehow it never looked overdone to the point of poor taste. Ariana realized her relation was satisfied only with the best—of just about everything. Not only wardrobe, but Ariana herself was expected to display superior accomplishments, and to behave with impeccable manners. Any flaw, no matter how trifling, was not beneath her aunt’s notice.
Over the past week, Mrs. Bentley had put Ariana through the ordeal of demonstrating her abilities. She was asked to play the pianoforte, which Ariana knew she could do only tolerably. When she began playing a simple melody, the lady frowned and said, “She will need a tutor,” to Mr. Pellham, who was listening and nodding.
For dancing, Mr. Pellham was her partner. Thank goodness for the kindly old gentleman! He spoke encouragingly to her, all the while managing to nod sympathetically at her aunt from time to time in response to her nonstop stream of commentary, which Ariana decided was the key to his huge popularity in Hanover Square.
Ariana’s needlework (a sample of which came from home in order to be finished), was especially artful and promising, according to Mr. Pellham. Her drawing ability, superior. She did not sing overly well, but he remarked that no young lady could hope to master all the accomplishments, and that Ariana’s grace of manner, coupled with her beauty, should satisfy anyone. In the end, he pronounced himself utterly satisfied with her.
Thankfully, Mrs. Bentley valued his opinion, but she continued to keep a sharp eye on her niece, particularly during meals, and was quick to point out anything that struck her as less than perfectly genteel in Ariana’s person, bearing, or actions. It was wearisome, indeed.
“It was too bad of your sister to enter a betrothal just before the season.” Mrs. Bentley’s voice roused her from her thoughts. Ariana was startled, and could think of no proper response, so she said nothing.
“ ’Tis irregular for the second sister to come out before the eldest.” She looked deep in thought. “This is why ’tis imperative you are called Miss Forsythe rather than Miss Ariana. Pray, do not forget it!”
“My dear Aunt,” Ariana gently suggested, “there is no irregularity in your bringing me out. At home, Alberta is much out. And no one could question my coming out in the least if they knew the reason why I am here and not my elder sister.”
“That, my gel,” she smiled back shrewdly, “is precisely what they must not understand! The country squire. That alone could ruin your prospects.”
Ariana’s face was a picture of mild alarm, as any reminder about the business of being “Miss Forsythe” awakened her concerns, and it showed in her large, expressive eyes. Her chaperon could not decide what gave them their allure: they were really an unpopular colour, being what one could only call light brown, but they held a sparkle that gave them the effect of gold, so unusual for eyes, that they held an undeniable beauty.
“I expect everyone shall be there,” Aunt Bentley went on. “I daresay Mornay may have an announcement of some kind; imagine if he is to marry! That may be why Mrs. Royleforst has manoeuvred him into such a gathering. He is notorious for small parties of only his most intimate friends. What else could be afoot?”
Ariana’s aunt looked at her as if she could supply an answer to the question, but Ariana looked blankly back at her. Such outright curiosity—nay, gossip—astonished her. And her aunt had not done: “I loathe long rides in the carriage.” She shook her head. “One could overturn or encounter highwaymen! Such dangers are abroad these days!” She paused, settling herself more comfortably upon the cushions and added, “Of course it will be worth it to see Aspindon, but why could not Mrs. Royleforst have chosen Mr. Mornay’s London house? Or someone else’s? We have so many veritable palaces in town
.”
Ariana’s eyes widened, but again her aunt barely paused. “Every unattached female of the ton will likely be there—setting their caps at Mornay, no doubt! An utter waste of time! That man is positively impervious to the female sex. The Paragon in appearance and style, he has all the airs, indeed, but does he ever show the least interest in doing his duty to his family name? No! We are all beginning to think he is the most determined bachelor in creation.”
Ariana looked confused. “But did you not say an engagement might be announced? This very day?”
Aunt Bentley shrugged. “I was speculating. There must be some great cause for a ton party at Aspindon; and even Mr. Mornay must allow his need for an heir. But I didn’t mean to suggest it is likely.”
Looking sharply at Ariana, she admonished, “Never engage him in conversation. He is far beyond your depth, and heartlessly cutting in his remarks to young ladies.”
“I would never—!”
“Oh—but I was talking about the ladies, and I wanted to say we must procure invitations.” She wagged a finger at Ariana and said emphatically, “Without invitations we are nothing!”
Ariana nodded as if taking the point. She involuntarily cleared her throat, and resumed looking out the window of the coach. The crowded London streets were giving way to bits of landscape as they left the city proper, or “town,” as her aunt called it. Ariana leaned her head back against the cushion and closed her eyes. She was looking forward to seeing the estate in Middlesex, for she had passed through the region on her trip to London and admired its beauty greatly. Nevertheless, sleepiness was coming upon her. How nice if she could sleep during the drive.
Seven
Aspindon, Middlesex
Ariana’s aunt chattered in her gossipy fashion for much of the ride to Aspindon, so that when they turned into a long, winding drive about two and a quarter hours after their departure from Hanover Square, the younger girl had not been able to doze in the least. The scene before them now, however, began to revive her spirits. The drive was neatly framed on both sides by graceful lines of evergreen trees, which eventually came to an opening where Ariana caught her first sight of Aspindon.
Fully alert now, she beheld the large dwelling with awe. The house was breathtaking, both high and wide in the classical style and balanced beautifully on either side with four-storey pavilions made of cut, light-coloured stone. Three double-door entranceways were arched and overhung by balustrades, one in the centre and two at the pavilions. Far to one side, she saw the glass ceiling of a forcing-house behind a privet hedge, which also likely hid the servants’ quarters.
Above the main entrance sat a huge Venetian window that reflected the sky gracefully as they drew nearer. Ariana felt a thrill of pleasure—she loved fine things—and could hardly take it all in: manicured grounds, liveried servants everywhere, other shiny black carriages ahead and behind. It all captured her interest.
After a footman helped her descend the carriage steps, she and her aunt joined a throng of guests on a wide lawn at one side of the house. Ariana looked at the people with a newcomer’s eye, delighted by the beauty and finery they wore. She was thankful for her own expensive attire at that moment, seeing what a richly dressed crowd she was among.
She had on the bonnet with the peacock feather, another reason to rest easy. Looking around, she could not locate one bonnet or head-dressing lacking the same, or the fluffier ostrich feathers such as her aunt favoured.
On Ariana’s feet were white kid slippers, and she saw many others wearing similar, or more delicate footwear, such as satin. Every young female was decked out in high-waisted chemise gowns like hers, reaching the ankle or the ground. There were a few in figured silk, like Mrs. Bentley, and one older lady in an exceedingly distasteful gauze creation, nearly transparent, with no underdress whatsoever. Ariana felt herself blushing and forced her eyes elsewhere. Her own gown, though light, was reassuringly modest. A revealing décolletage was fashionable but not necessary at every occasion, and Ariana’s aunt had the sense to dress her niece with an eye for smart style that was more pleasing than exhibition.
The young woman, in fact, looked perfectly becoming in her ensemble, and stood out among the gathering as one of the more finely dressed. Though not aware of this, Ariana felt, smugly, that Aspindon was just the right place for her, the elegant newcomer. Crossing the lawn with her aunt, she breathed, “I cannot imagine a finer situation! The house and property are so proportionately fitting, so pleasant to behold.”
“It is the Mornay estate; he is not called the Paragon for lack of taste.”
“But surely he did not design the house,” she said, being practical.
“Does it matter?” Her aunt was exasperated. She was searching the crowd with wide, sharp eyes, looking for her chief acquaintances. “Why, the whole world is here! Quite an illustrious beginning for you, Ariana. Do remember all I have taught you regarding…er…decorum and proper behaviour.”
There were a multitude of canopied tables set about the grounds, all loaded with elegant-looking refreshments. Mrs. Bentley took Ariana by the arm and began earnestly seeking introductions. She was anxious to let it be known at the outset that she now had a niece staying with her. A pretty, genteel niece, of marriageable age. For her part, Ariana had never seen so many multi-coloured gowns, frilly parasols, sparkling sequins, and lavish embroidery, or such enormous, many-plumed bonnets. The quantity of weighty jewels, fobs, lorgnettes and quizzing glasses, shawls, headdresses, ruffled collars, intricate cravats, and colourful waistcoats was also an amazing sight to behold. She took it all in with the appreciation of the uninitiated, trying to commit to memory descriptions which she knew would amuse her family.
She smiled and curtseyed for each introduction, managing not to appear startled when she met a woman with two small patches on her face. Mama had spoken of this old style once; it had begun as a means of hiding imperfections but soon became a fashion in its own right. Most people had ceased to wear patches before the turn of the century, however, which was well above a decade earlier.
When she met a Mrs. Herley and her two daughters, Ariana’s eyes met the older Miss Herley’s and the two exchanged friendly smiles. The other sister, Miss Susan, was young enough for the schoolroom and clung close by her mama. While the older women chatted, Ariana looked to Miss Herley and offered, “I am staying with my aunt for the season.”
“I wondered where you came from!” she immediately confided. “I never saw Mrs. Bentley with a young person in her company. But she is your aunt—now I see.” She paused, and explained, “We live in London, and this is my second season.”
“Indeed,” Ariana nodded, impressed. Again they shared a smile.
“You are staying at Hanover Square, then?” Miss Herley asked.
Ariana nodded.
“In Mayfair,” Miss Herley pronounced, knowingly. “Town home for all the blue bloods and anyone who is anyone.”
“Do you also live there?”
Miss Herley laughed and said, “No. We live on Burton Crescent, respectable to be sure, but too far from Mayfair to attract first sons, I assure you.” Her amiable manner and infectious laugh communicated that it did not ruin her composure to allow that it was so.
“You, however, on Hanover Square, have much better prospects than I. Hanover Square is only a hop away from Grosvenor Square, and Grosvenor Square is just a skip away from Park Lane, whose inhabitants think they are royalty.”
“I scarcely know my way around London,” Ariana conceded.
“Park Lane is the most coveted address in the city—other than Carlton House, I suppose.”
“I see,” Ariana said, still smiling.
Miss Herley looked appraisingly at Ariana and then said, “You will not need a second season, as I have,” in so serious a tone that Ariana had to laugh.
“I am not here to find a husband,” she said, “as much as escape one.” To her questioning look she explained about Mr. Hathaway the rector, and how her parents
had not approved. They had sent her to London only to remove her from the situation.
Miss Herley murmured, “Well, that is the most unusual reason I have ever heard for coming to London.” She paused. “But you will be glad you came, I am certain, and if you are not snatched up directly, I know nothing at all! Come, shall we walk?”
The chestnut-haired girl took Ariana’s arm with easy warmth and Ariana silently thanked God for this newfound friend. Looking behind them, she saw her aunt immersed in conversation and decided it must be all right to explore. They passed two young men who looked interestedly at the girls, one giving a sudden impish wink in their direction. They pretended not to notice.
“Rascals!” chided Miss Herley. “And of no consequence at all; how they got here, I’ll never know.” She gave Ariana a glance. “Are you apprehensive? I was. I wondered endlessly how I should answer if one of the gentlemen approached me. Thankfully, I am much less anxious this season.”
“I am intent only upon female conversation today,” Ariana declared. “I must arm myself with friends before I even consider taking on the male population!”
Miss Herley giggled and looked at Ariana appreciatively. She then confided, “Most gentleman avoid debutantes like the plague. Do not be dispirited if it seems so to you—though it may not. I feel certain you will not reach the season’s end without a betrothal.”
“I am certain of no such thing,” Ariana said with assurance. They stopped as they came abreast of a large group of guests, and just stood, watching and sharing thoughts, admiring a gown here, a pelisse or bonnet, there. A brooch and matching necklace as it was paraded by on a large, busty woman brought exclamations, as did the pastries they decided to try from a nearby table heaped with tantalizing confections.
Before the Season Ends Page 6
