Before the Season Ends

by Linore Rose Burkard

  “And for what you’ve done since?”

  There was an immediate sparkle in his eye. “Do you mean the manner in which I dragged you from your home, from warmth, and safety and society?”

  “That is precisely what I mean!”

  “Well, perhaps it escapes your notice, but your aunt, I believe, did mention I intend to marry you. Does that help matters?”

  She shook her head. “Directly after I convinced myself you should never care for me in that way!”

  “No, my sweet; I convinced you. Forgive me!” He pulled her toward him and Ariana gladly threw her arms around his neck. She rested her head against him and then their faces were touching. She loved the feel of her cheek against his face, but then he drew back his head and kissed her.

  He broke apart from her when he felt the wetness of a tear against his skin.

  “What is it? Have I offended you?” There was silence. “Ariana?”

  “I—don’t—know—wh-what—to—do!”

  He moved apart enough to see her.

  “What do you mean?” His voice was caring and gentle, and Ariana again pressed her head against him. She couldn’t help then, but to put her arms once more about his neck. It felt wonderful to be able to—it was like a dream.

  “Oh, Ariana!” he cried, softly, strengthening his embrace. He was surprised and once again moved apart enough to raise her face, though he could not see her eyes clearly in the dark. Passing street lamps gave some illumination, but not enough for him to read her emotions from her face and eyes.

  “Is it that I forced you to come with me?”

  “No.” He waited for her to continue. “I have been praying about you for as long as I have known you; for your salvation, you see. And I have always prayed that God would lead me to the right man; the one He has chosen for me. But I had—I have—no indication…that you could be him!”

  “No indication?” He was surprised. “That I was falling in love with you? I thought I was the only one who failed to notice that.” He was silent a moment, thinking. “Surely you marked my attentions to you.”

  “No, you misunderstand me. I mean that I have—no—indication that God has chosen you for me!”

  “But you have every indication.”

  She was giving him the death knell of their betrothal, and he sounded amazingly calm.

  “How is that?”

  “I am the one who has offered for you, and received your aunt’s approval; I have cared for you; I am able to take further care of you and solve your social quandary. You will not have to fret on account of your aunt misrepresenting you, or for not having a fortune. I am the one who saved you from the countess’s lies; and I saved your life when you might have drowned. In fact, now I think on it, I’ve saved you a good many times.”

  He was speaking in a soothing, serious tone. He was taking her concerns to heart, and answering them as best he could, as best he knew how. When he had finished his list, including their encounter at his estate in the tree when he had not revealed her, he gently pulled her forward and gave her a kiss.

  “And now it must be official,” he said in a droll tone, “that Mr. Mornay is God’s choice for Ariana Forsythe. I certainly believe it was God who brought you to me!”

  “I wish I could believe that!”

  “Why shouldn’t you?”

  She hesitated, wondering how much it might upset him to hear the truth.

  “There is a verse from Scripture regarding marriage. It says: Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers. It is a direct command not to marry anyone outside the faith.”

  “But I am the same faith as you. Church of England, born and raised.”

  “That is a religion. You were born into a religion. Faith is a different matter.”

  He sat back, exasperated. “I don’t understand your point, Ariana.”

  She began again. “Faith causes a man to seek his Creator, to want communion with Him. To desire to please Him.” There was silence a moment.

  “You think I am the veriest pagan, but I assure you that is not the case.”

  Another silence.

  “I know to you there is no dilemma, but it is very real for me. I assure you. I must tell you, the outcome—our being wed—is more precarious than you think. In fact, the question of our betrothal—”

  “Question? There is no question, Ariana. It is evident to me we must wed, and, as soon as the proper arrangements can be made. I have already charged your aunt with that business. Except for your wedding gown, which I intend to oversee—”

  “Mr. Mornay! This cannot go forward until you have my parents’ blessing!”

  “I have received permission from your aunt—your guardian at the moment. And I can assure you in any case there isn’t a single mama in London who would dream of withholding permission from her daughter to marry me.”

  “My family is bound to be an exception,” Ariana countered. “I feel certain the outcome is more precarious than you assume.”

  He was growing angry. They moved apart, though they were still seated beside one another.

  “You said earlier, you had been praying about me since we met,” he recounted. “Why is that not enough? Or, pray on, if you like. Pray all you want! But some things have to be, and—” his tone changed. “May I remind you, you are sitting beside me, inside my closed carriage at night, alone? That not many minutes ago you were practically upon my lap? I hate to think you will find this disagreeable, but every rule of society dictates we must be betrothed or your reputation is shattered.”

  “But I said I shouldn’t come!”

  They both sat fuming silently for a minute.

  “I do not mean to be difficult,” she continued. “I am merely trying to do what’s right. I hope you can understand that.”

  His answer was immediate. “The right thing is to avoid the appearance of evil, is it not?”

  She was surprised that he apparently did know some scripture.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you must accept the necessity of our marriage. If you defer now, the whole of London society will be scandalized. There is nothing else for it.”

  “I must think on this.” She was feeling confused, and hated to be disagreeable to him. “I am convinced that to marry you—though I am heartily sorry to say it—would be wrong. It dishonours my beliefs.”

  “Is your family Methodist?”

  “No. But my papa has given me a great deal of their teachings.”

  “So this is why you favoured Mr. O’Brien?” His tone was bitter.

  “I never favoured him over you in my heart. Only in my head.”

  “Tell me again. The verse you mentioned.”

  “Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers. Second epistle to the Corinthians, chapter six, verse fourteen.” He had listened intently and now he leaned toward her with a sudden thought.

  “I realize I am not the model of virtue you hoped for, but I am not an unbeliever. I do believe in God! Your objection is groundless.”

  Ariana eyed him uncertainly. Even in the dark of the carriage, his exceptional eyes glowed out at her, deep, intent, and—and—earnest. But she had to give voice to her thought.

  “The devil believes in God, too, and trembles, Scripture says.” She felt as if his eyes would bore holes into hers.

  “Are you comparing me to him?”

  “No!” She shifted in her seat. “I am showing you that general belief is not the same as faith. Faith is believing, yes, but ’tis more than that. Christ died on the cross for your soul! Until you understand the value of that—there can be no hope for us.”

  There was a deep silence this time until she asked, “Have you put your soul in His hands, Phillip?” His name rolled off her tongue before she realized it, and she blushed.

  He hesitated before answering. “I see that you make a great distinction, but nevertheless it says not to be bound to an unbeliever, and I stand upon my claim that I am not one.”

  She looked at hi
m despairingly.

  “Ariana, it is useless; all of London will soon learn of our betrothal. Your aunt has informed her guests by now. The fact is we are bound to one another. I do dare to entertain the hope, however, that you will soon find this agreeable.”

  There was a deafening silence until Ariana asked, in a petulant tone, why he hadn’t approached her first, instead of her aunt.

  “Yes, I see it was a mistake,” he murmured. “But I hardly knew myself I was going to offer for you. When I realized it, I could only think I had to do it before O’Brien had a chance to.”

  “Would you please return me home?” Ariana said.

  “At once. But—is this your way of telling me that you do not care for me? Is that the real cause of your hesitation?”

  “No! I have been miserably aware of late that I care for you all too much!” Even as she spoke, they were suddenly back in a warm embrace. Why did it feel so wonderful to be in his arms? He strengthened his hold on her and moved her upon his lap for a kiss. To herself she thought, If I did not love you, Phillip Mornay, I would have no dilemma!

  The carriage returned to Hanover Square.

  Twenty-Six

  When Mr. Mornay’s carriage pulled up to the curb, it was far up the street from house number 49. He turned to Ariana.

  “Everything we have discussed can be resolved once we are wed. There will be plenty of time for you to instruct me, and I promise,” here he lifted her hand to his lips, “to allow you to do so.” He then leaned forward and kissed her cheek, and moved to kiss her mouth but she turned her face away.

  “I cannot sufficiently instruct you.”

  “Hush!” He tried to kiss her again but was equally without success. He took and held her, however, and spoke softly into her ear.

  “I love you, Ariana. I cannot say how or why I began to love you the moment I found you in that confounded tree, but I did! And then your large eyes, and your wonderful innocence—coupled with as brave a temper as mine is fierce—undid my three decades of bachelorhood. And, the absurd thing is, I’m afraid it took me until tonight to realize it.”

  Ariana, her head resting lightly against him, felt enormously pleased. But she lifted her head up to object.

  “You did not love me so soon! When I saw you at the Sherwood’s card party, you forgot my name. I distinctly recall!”

  He smiled wryly. “No, I pretended to forget your name.”

  This fascinated her. “Why?”

  He leaned his head back.

  “To put you in your place, I suppose. I have found it an effective discouragement for hopeful females.”

  They were both smiling and she laughed. “Did you think I was setting my cap at you?”

  “Until you told me how convinced you were of my ‘utter depravity.’ I gather you are no less convinced today than you were then, eh?”

  “Oh, no.” She spoke softly. “Without Christ, you are utterly depraved before God, as are we all; but I think you’re wonderful!”

  He tried to kiss her again, and this time succeeded.

  A few minutes later they were strolling toward the house, her arm snugly in his.

  “Ariana, we are betrothed, and it must be so.”

  She looked at him helplessly.

  “There is still time—as much as you need—to settle your doubts. But I will not lose you.” He stopped walking, looking at her earnestly. “Before tonight, I should have thought you would be happy to find your future entwined with mine. I felt certain you…wanted me.” The words left his mouth with difficulty, and Ariana’s defences, what little she had, crumbled.

  “You were right, indeed.”

  He took both her hands. “Then why are you putting this wall between us?”

  They searched each other’s eyes.

  “I do not mean to put anything between us.” She was speaking slowly, choosing her words. “I am telling you what is between us, so you may remove the obstacle.”

  They resumed walking in silence until they reached the house.

  “Do you mind if I say goodnight here?” she asked. “I should like to read and pray.”

  “Then read and pray. By all means.” He took and kissed her hand warmly, and watched with a sigh while she disappeared into the house.

  Harrietta was scandalized to find Ariana in her chamber so early, for it was scarcely twelve-thirty. The ball was likely to go on for hours yet, she pointed out. Ariana deferred, knowing that if she returned, there would be no end of questions and congratulations and attention. She was in no mood for it. She herself still had questions. How could she marry Mr. Mornay? How could she not? And why had this longtime bachelor fallen for her charms, when she had taken no pains to win his affection? What was she to do?

  This was the question she presented to the Lord in prayer that evening. She fell to her knees beside the bed, and Harrietta, knowing when Ariana fell to her knees she tended to remain that way for a long time, realized nothing was going to persuade the young miss to return to the ballroom. She went to find Haines, her superior, to let him inform the mistress.

  The betrothal was a divine bit of gossip, and people left the house intent on spreading it. There were always other places one could go in town, no matter the hour, and soon the fabulous on-dit had been passed along so the Regent himself heard it.

  It was never disclosed exactly how the thing had come about. Mrs. Bentley made it a point to keep to herself the remarkable account of what had happened when she spoke with Mr. Mornay at the ball.

  He had approached her with a bitter pill to swallow: all her troubles with Ariana’s wardrobe had worked quite the opposite as she had hoped. He even accused her of behaving scandalously in the matter—a crime she denied with indignation.

  “Scandalous? I am convinced no one else thinks so!” The color had already faded from her cheeks.

  “Perhaps no one else thinks, madam.” His tone was venomous. “I tell you, you have ruined the child!”

  “Child?” Mrs. Bentley was beginning to feel weak. “I daresay my niece is young, but she is no child. Look at her. You can see for yourself—” It chanced that Ariana came into full view just then, and it was obvious that Mrs. Bentley’s words were true. Ariana was a beautiful young woman—especially this evening, in her new gown.

  Mr. Mornay was not to be appeased.

  “You see, ma’am, what you have done.”

  All of the dear lady’s hopes began to fade away like a procession of candles being snuffed out, one by one. She thought she knew what would please Mr. Mornay, but now was confused. The truly vexatious thing was she had expressly bespoken the gown with him in mind!

  “I thought you should approve of such a gown!”

  “Not on Ariana!”

  Suddenly Mrs. Bentley was dabbing at tears. She thought—no, she knew—he cared for her niece, but for him to take a disgust of Ariana now, when she had taken such pains to prepare the girl for him—it was too, too provoking! She had never been the sort of female to depend upon salts, but she felt in need of them now.

  “I warrant she is still the same—child,” she ventured weakly. “I have only dressed up what was there all along.” He was staring out at the dancers watching for every glimpse of her, and made no reply.

  Mrs. Bentley was irked. “This is too unbearable, Mornay! When I expressly ordered that gown for you!”

  He looked at her with a raised brow. Whatever was she talking about? For him? The noise of the room must have affected his hearing. He continued to give his attention to Ariana on the dance floor. She was moving to the music, stepping forward, then back, doing a graceful circle and smiling up into her dance partner’s face, looking so lovely…

  Mrs. Bentley shed a few tears from sheer frustration. But suddenly she had a rare insight. She, too, was watching Ariana and she could see nothing amiss in her appearance. The girl was beautiful. But then, wait, that was it! She was looking too beautiful. Too beautiful for a man who was denying he was in love, at any rate.

  She loo
ked up at the man beside her, wiping the last tear from her eye, and pronounced, before she realized what she was doing (or she would not have possessed the courage), “You, sir, are in love!”

  Mr. Mornay stared at her as if thunderstruck. When he remained silent, she gasped with fear, certain that any moment he would lash out at her for her presumption, her rudeness, her absurd accusation. He would stalk from her house and, in days to come, sprinkle the ton with this account of her audacity and make both herself and Ariana a laughingstock. But in the end, of course, he neither upbraided her nor denied what she said.

  He simply gazed back silently at Ariana and all the anger and indignation he had been feeling slowly drained from his features, taking a good deal of his colour with it. To his astonishment, Mrs. Bentley was precisely on the mark! He loved Ariana! He was not just fond of her as he had thought. He, Phillip Edward Mornay, was in love!

  Looking at her, it was suddenly clear—ridiculously so—that of course he loved her. He had, it seemed, for some time. He had known she intrigued him, delighted him, and amused him, but he had never allowed himself to even think of the word, “love.” Much as he enjoyed being with her, he had not admitted the depth of his attraction, not even to himself. Feeling it now, letting it sink in on him and watching her from a distance—it was becoming painful. He was aware of an acute longing for her rising up from deep within his being, a painful longing. But then, Ariana cared for him. He had felt it was so, hadn’t he?

  He did the only thing he could think of to ease his sudden acute consciousness of loving her. He turned to Mrs. Bentley.

  “Yes; and so you will require your niece to grant me a dance—and arrange for the wedding!” To her rapturous look, which he met with a severe one of his own, he added, “The wedding. See to it. Make any arrangement you like. Any amount of pin money you want. Everything that is mine will be Ariana’s. Just be certain to get me your niece!”

  It was shortly after that remarkable conversation that Mrs. Bentley had motioned for Ariana, who by now had completed a dance and was chatting with Reverend and Mrs. Chesley. Ariana had made her way over completely unsuspicious of what she was about to discover.