Ariana turned to go.
“Ariana, stay, I beg you!” Lavinia begged her with her eyes. “Mr. Chesley can be provoking, I grant you, but he is not a fabricator. Perhaps he does know of something significant. Perhaps you will thank him in the end.”
“Perhaps you have allowed your curiosity to overcome your better judgment, Lavinia.” She straightened her gown. “If there is anything significant I must know regarding Mr. Mornay, he will tell me himself.”
“Mornay has a dark past!” Mr. Chesley instantly asserted. “Most of it has somehow been buried; but I have managed to get my hands on something that you, Miss Forsythe, could surely not allow in a man you would marry! I say that with conviction, knowing your piety.”
Ariana blanched, but then gathered her strength. “I do not listen to hearsay.”
Mr. Chesley called loudly. “It concerns your Mr. Mornay and a young woman near your own age.” Ariana stopped. Mr. O’Brien, standing nearby and surveying the situation, heard the last statement and came to hear the matter. Lavinia grasped Ariana’s arm, turning her around to hear it as well. Ariana dreaded hearing anything from Mr. Chesley regarding Phillip, for she knew he was bound to be unfair, but she was torn. Taking her hesitation as tacit permission to continue—or perhaps not—Mr. Chesley spoke softly but effectively to the little group, sharing his revelation. When it was done, Ariana was blinking back tears, but her face held a determined look to it. Lavinia went to her and gave her an embrace.
Mr. O’Brien called the following day and remained in the parlour for a full twenty-five minutes.
Mrs. Bentley did not like it. “What are you thinking? To see a gentleman while your betrothed is out of town—it isn’t done, my dear. The last thing you want is a breath of scandal.”
“Scandalous things are not uncommon in this society.” Her words were edged with bitterness. “I think I must welcome a scandal, ma’am, if that is what it takes to end my betrothal.”
Mrs. Bentley stared at her, aghast, her hand going over her heart.
“What is the meaning of this?” It came out as a gasp.
Ariana’s face softened. “I am sorry to lay it upon you so rudely, dear Aunt, but I could not think how to tell you.” She rose from her seat and paced the room; her two slim hands came together and she raised them to her lips and nodded to herself, as if deciding upon a thing. She lowered them again and turned to face her aunt.
“I have learned something. Something about Mr. Mornay. And I—I cannot abide it!”
“What have you heard? And from whom?”
Ariana told her the source of her information.
“And you believe him?” Aunt Bentley’s face contorted into a great scowl.
“I do.” Her tone was subdued; resigned. “Everything I know about Phillip tells me it is true.”
“What has Chesley told you?”
The lady came and stood eye to eye with her niece. Ariana could tell her aunt was agitated and upset, but there was something else she saw in the watery blue eyes of her relation which Ariana was sure Mrs. Bentley did not wish to reveal: fear. Her aunt was afraid of what she might have learned! Was this not more evidence of the truth of the matter? Her heart sank even further.
“Well?”
“It happened when Mr. Mornay was young.” Ariana decided to sit down, and her aunt did likewise. “I think during his years at Eton, though I am not certain. He befriended a young girl whose family had suffered financial ruin some time earlier.” Ariana’s eyes were far away; her voice was wooden. “His father demanded an end to the relationship, and in response—” she lowered her head, but could not hide the tears in her voice. “He—he—fathered a child with her. And then, when his father would still not allow a marriage, he—heartlessly—abandoned her! And his own child!”
She looked up to see a frank look of doubt on her aunt’s face.
“I cannot believe it. Another man, Ariana, but not Phillip Mornay. He has ever—until you—avoided women, particularly young ones. I have never known him to be affiliated with a single dishonourable scandal involving a female.”
Ariana crossed her arms. “Well, you know of one, now. And I daresay it was this that caused him to avoid others, later on.”
Mrs. Bentley pressed her lips together. “Even if that tale is true, which I doubt, it was long ago. What Mornay did when he was hardly out of shortcoats has nothing to do with the man he is today! I should think that you, of all people, would be most acutely conscious of that, for I daresay he has found himself another young woman, who, in contrast to his own wealth is poor, has he not? And I think I may say he has not behaved improperly to you.”
Ariana was silent as she thought on this.
“Perhaps not; but his will has not been crossed in our case. If his father were alive and wished to block the wedding, I wonder how he should have behaved to me, then!”
“Now you’re talking fustian! He is a different man today. And his will has most certainly been blocked,” she said, with large eyes, “by you!” She nervously played at the beads around her throat. “He is offering you all that is his, Ariana! Can you truly hold against him what he did as a young buck, with barely enough brains, I daresay, to get himself dressed each day?”
“He abandoned a woman with child! It is too heartless! It—it frightens me!” She laid her head upon her hands. Her aunt gave a little frown. If only there was some way of disproving the tale—she felt certain it could not be true or she would have known about the incident. It wasn’t easy to keep such things suppressed.
“It is no doubt a mere Banbury tale,” she said aloud. “Mr. Chesley has seen his hopes dashed by Mornay and he seeks to put himself in your favour. Is not anything more clear than that?”
Ariana thought for a moment. If only Mr. Mornay would return! She could speak to him about it, as difficult as that would be. She supposed it was only fair to give him that chance. Suddenly an idea struck her and she looked up.
“Perhaps there is more to the story than I have heard. If you will call the carriage for my use, I believe I must go see Mrs. Royleforst!” She was herself surprised to have reached that conclusion, but she felt instinctively she must speak to someone she could trust was not hoping to sway her emotions negatively toward Mr. Mornay.
“Yes, do!” cried her aunt. “But upon my honour, Ariana, this is no great transgression that you cannot overlook!” She stopped in surprise. “Upon my honour, Ariana! ’Tis a rhyme! Upon my honour, Ariana.”
Ariana raised her eyes to the ceiling and went for her bonnet, while her aunt, still repeating the phrase, went for the bellpull to order the carriage.
Thirty-Eight
Mrs. Royleforst’s neighbourhood lacked the aura of wealth that Mayfair possessed, but it was yet highly respectable. Ariana’s arrival, therefore, when she came forth from the expensive carriage, drew only a few curious glances.
She was wearing a pale blue walking gown with long sleeves and a deep muslin ruff. There were rows of embroidery across the bodice and down the sleeves, ending with a slightly ruffled wrist and hem at the ankles. A matching bonnet with yellow silk ribbons and a little feathery puff, and a light, woven shawl completed her appearance. Her long hair was curled in ringlets and pinned up within her hat, except for a few tendrils that peeked out prettily.
A servant admitted Ariana to a comfortable parlour. When Mrs. Royleforst came into the room using a walking stick, Ariana realized she had some lameness in one leg. She slowly made her way to the sofa where Ariana sat, and then came and heavily seated herself upon the far cushion.
“Well!” she exclaimed, after settling herself. “So you’ve come to be friends, have you?” Before Ariana could answer, she added, “Sensible thing to do, very sensible, since we are now relations. Well, very soon to be.”
“I do indeed wish to be friends.”
Mrs. Royleforst feasted her eyes on Ariana, who had acquired the difficult art of looking completely comfortable in the latest fashions. She was overjoyed that her f
astidious nephew had found a wife, and she, too, wanted above all things to be on good terms with Phillip’s choice. She hoped to be included in their family, for nothing would please her better than to have youngsters about her skirts.
In the past, even she dared not urge her nephew to find a wife. He would allow no discussion of the matter, and one might as well say, ‘Do let us be as uncivil as possible to one another, eh?’ For that is how he reacted. Her aging nerves and sensibilities were simply not able to withstand such treatment any more. It was a great relief to have the matter nearly settled.
And so she nodded approvingly at Ariana. “And so do I, dearie. And so do I.”
She then asked Miss Bluford, who had sat down as one of the company, to fetch the tea tray. When the door shut behind the skinny companion, Ariana turned to her hostess.
“I was hoping to speak with you privately, Mrs. Royleforst.”
“Oh, no, I am no longer ‘Mrs. Royleforst’ to you, my dear. You must call me Aunt, now.”
“Thank you, Aunt Royleforst. But I have an urgent matter, about Mr. Mornay, which I need you to advise me on.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Royleforst’s red eyes grew round, and could almost be called large.
“Do not say,” she replied after a moment’s contemplation, “that it is a matter of costume. You must know that I have no talent in that regard. Phillip himself is the one to—”
“No, Mrs.—I mean, Aunt. No, ’tis nothing like that. Something of greater significance, I assure you.”
“Oh.” This time there was disappointment in the word. Mrs. Royleforst was afraid that her nephew’s vitriolic temper was causing problems, and she was not by any means certain she could be of the least help in that regard.
Miss Bluford came back into the room carrying a gleaming silver tea service. She carefully set the tray upon a little sofa table in front of them. It was laid out with service for three, and Ariana resigned herself to a long visit. Miss Bluford was not accepted or welcomed at most social occasions and she meant to participate in this one. Her manner of participating extended to merely sitting and nodding, smiling if it seemed appropriate, and otherwise making herself as little noticed as possible. Now and then Mrs. Royleforst would say, “Why, Miss Bluford says,” or, with an emphatic wave of her arm, “Miss Bluford never…!” The lady in question would exclaim, “Indeed! Indeed!” but that was all.
Two cups of tea and three little biscuits later, Miss Bluford rose to clear the dishes. Ariana was mildly surprised that it fell to the companion to do so, but recalled that Mrs. Royleforst was considered an eccentric because she employed as few servants as possible. She maintained it was to keep her house her sanctuary. Ariana was brimming with uncustomary impatience, and felt relieved to see the skinny figure retreat behind the closed door.
“I am sorry, my dear.” Mrs. Royleforst also had watched her go. “We entertain so little that I did not have the heart to send her from the room. The poor dear has nothing, you know, only me, and so I try to do well by her.”
“I think you succeed in that, ma’am.” Much gratified, the hostess smiled widely, revealing two large dimples which popped out on the chubby red cheeks. When Miss Bluford returned, her mistress told her she needed to speak privately with their guest. The lady was not offended and offered a wobbly curtsey to Ariana and left the room once more.
Ariana, meanwhile, had been worrying throughout the visit what she would say to her hostess regarding her difficulty. How much did she already know? Ariana did not want to reveal anything about her nephew that she was not already aware of. She owed Phillip that. But on the other hand, Mrs. Royleforst could be of no help to her if she did not know about the incident.
She rearranged herself primly upon the sofa, cleared her throat, and began.
“My dear ma’am.” She raised large, earnest eyes to Mrs. Royleforst’s little ones. “I hardly know how to begin. You see, it regards a matter in your nephew’s past, something which, I must tell you, he did not inform me of himself.”
“How do you know about it, then?” Her tone was mild.
“Oh—an acquaintance told me.” She paused, folding and unfolding her hands “ ’Tisn’t a pleasant story. And the thing is, I was so shocked upon learning of it, I can hardly imagine being married—to Mr. Mornay.”
Mrs. Royleforst hid her surprise and alarm. This was far worse than she expected, but she knew exactly what Ariana had heard. Or supposed she did.
“My dear,” she said soothingly. “All young men are frightfully disposed to foolish behaviour in their youth. You must realize that Mr. Mornay was no exception.”
Ariana looked doubtful. “Foolish behaviour, ma’am? I can hardly excuse his abominable conduct on childish foolishness!”
“Oh, my dear! I grant that perhaps he should have known better, but when young men cavort together these things happen, you know. There was no lasting harm done, I recall. It was really more an inconvenience.”
Ariana blinked in disbelief. No lasting harm? An inconvenience?
“I daresay that one ruined life—no, two, including that poor child’s—would be considered lasting harm!” Again she could not keep the tears from her voice.
Mrs Royleforst stared at her uncomprehendingly.
“Child? That man was alone in his carriage, asleep, when they removed the wheels and frightened off his horses!” Then, “Oh, dear!”
“Oh, dear!” echoed Ariana. She stood up. “Forgive me! I thought you knew! I pray you, forgive me! I had no intention—I thought from the way you responded that you knew—!”
Mrs. Royleforst motioned for her to sit down.
“I do know! I had forgotten. But I do know, yes, indeed.” She drew a handkerchief from a pocket of her gown and wiped at her eyes. Ariana waited, letting her settle her thoughts, watching while the woman obviously decided what to say to her.
“You see, my dear—oh, Phillip should have told you about this himself.” She paused, staring blankly ahead, remembering. When she spoke again, it was in a low, sad tone.
“There is no one, no one upon the face of this earth who could feel worse about that tragical situation than he does, my dear. You must know, his character, his disposition—were not always so dark and forbidding. No, as he got older they darkened, and this incident was the initial cause.”
“If you mean to say, ma’am, that he was not always the kind of man who could do such a thing, I assure you, that will not suffice!”
“No, my gel, hear me out.” She paused again. “He was only sixteen when it happened. And by the by, many said the young lady in question had arranged for the very thing, thinking it would assure her an entry into a grand family, so there’s always two ways to butter the bread, you see!”
Ariana thought about that for a moment.
“Either way,” continued the lady, “I do not think Phillip ever really got over it.”
“What do you mean?”
“His heartache! He wanted to marry her—Miss Larkin, that was her name.”
“Until his father forbade it!” (Why couldn’t she speak without wanting to cry?)
“Oh, no, my dear! His father did indeed forbid a wedding; he wanted no acquaintance at all between the two. Wouldn’t hear of a marriage. Wouldn’t even allow Phillip to speak about it in his presence. It caused a terrible rift between them. But in the end, it was not his father who prevented it. You see, Edward, Phillip’s father, implored him to visit the continent for six months and think on the matter. He was certain Phillip was ruining his life, and wanted to prevent any contact between the young people. But he promised his son that, if he would take this trip and spend some time considering his future—apart from her—upon his return, he could choose his own course, marry whom he would. Well, with that promise, Phillip agreed. But there was one condition, only one, but absolutely necessary, his father said.”
“What was that?” Ariana’s large eyes glimmered wetly, but she was beginning to feel a slight hope, and she listened with her whole being.
Mrs. Royleforst shook her head regretfully. “That Phillip not tell Miss Larkin anything about the agreement. He was only to let her know of the trip, allowing that it was to appease his father. He declared his love and implored her to wait for his return, only with no promise of what would happen.” She paused, and sighed. “Phillip was gone only three months—he refused to stay longer and journeyed back alone. His plan was to marry her before she grew large with child, despite anything his father might say. But when he returned, after only three months, mind you, the young woman had vanished. For a time, he suspected his father had done something to her, and the two of them barely spoke to each other. Phillip blamed himself mightily for what he imagined might have befallen Miss Larkin. Then, we all discovered she had actually run off with another young gentleman of means. Phillip was furious! He went all the way to Yorkshire to see for himself and found that she had indeed abandoned him for another prospect. And, to his utter chagrin, he discovered she had not been with child after all. He began to see that his father had been right. She hadn’t ever truly loved him; it had been a trap. Of course he was guilty of walking into the trap rather than away from it. And he has since despised the weakness in himself which made him do it, as well as any female who dares set her cap at him!” She nodded. “Yes, I have long thought his aversion to females was due to this single episode.” She paused again, giving forth a great sigh. “Oh, it was a painful time for the family. Right after all this had been going on, Phillip’s father died. It was sudden, and the two had still not reconciled. He took his father’s passing very ill on that account. And then! He had a younger brother, you know, Nigel.”
“Nigel?” Ariana instantly remembered seeing the name inscribed in the family Bible on Mr. Mornay’s desk. It had been beneath the heading of “Deaths.” She shuddered at what was coming.
Mrs. Royleforst nodded sadly.
“Only months after my brother passed away—Phillip’s father, you see—Nigel fell from his horse and broke his neck. He died instantly.” Now Mrs. Royleforst seemed ready to burst into tears. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “It was a terrible time for Phillip. I daresay he wished it had been he who had broken his neck, not his brother.” She paused and gave Ariana a tentative look. More memories seemed to float across her mind.
Before the Season Ends Page 31
