The House in Grosvenor Square (47 page)

He folded his arms and gave a lazy, “Yes?”

“Doesn't he cut a dash tonight? Where're you headed, eh?” The men were grouping around him. “Come, come, do tell. You're all the go, ain't ya?”

He shrugged. “Saw Prinny straight from the tailor's. Just a new coat, gentlemen.”

“'Tis for his wedding, I warrant. That's tommora, ain't it?”

Without answering he took his watch from his fob and held it so he could read it.

“Wait a minute, Mornay! We heard about Wingate taking the angel and all. Tell us about it, won't ya?”

When he didn't answer immediately, the Duke of Grafton stepped forward. He smiled and shook Phillip's hand. “Congratulations, old man! So tomorrow's the big day, is it?”

He smiled. “It is, Your Grace.”

“You have our sympathies,” he said, but he was smiling. His face grew more sober and he said, “I did hear about Miss Forsythe's unfortunate, ah, tête-à-tête with Wingate!” He sighed. “That man has been a terror for too long!”

“I agree entirely.”

“I'm glad it has all worked out well, got her back unharmed, and all that.”

“Thank you. I'd like to see Wingate hanging from a gibbet for his part in it, though.”

“I don't doubt it!” He cocked an eye at Mornay. “Hey, come along and we'll talk more about it, eh? What can be done about that reprobate ‘markee'? Transportation, at least, I don't doubt.” He moved to take Phillip's arm.

“Prime, we've got him!” someone snickered from behind them.

“Shut it, you dandy-prat!”

Mr. Mornay stopped. How idiotic was he? The men were evidently doing their best to sneak him into going along with them for a night's entertainment. The night before his wedding. He had worked, it seemed, for a long time to
reach this night. It felt, in fact, as though he had been waiting all his life for this! He wasn't going to ruin it by wasting it among these empty garrets!

Lord Grafton was back before him. “Did I hear correctly that you picked the brother—Holliwell, ain't it—from Newgate? What's the story there, eh? We thought the brothers were birds of a feather.”

“You're trying to distract me, Grafton. It won't do.”

“No, no, no. I'm in earnest, sir. I need your answer on this.”

Mornay flicked a miniscule speck off his coat and said, “Without Holliwell, I would not have found Miss Forsythe so speedily. And he is a changed man. Reformed, if you like.”

Someone else interjected with an oath. “Not another reformed man! I remember when Wilberforce was a regular chap, and look at him now. All he talks of is abolition—or even worse!”

The others laughed.

“Never become that sort of bore, Mornay!”

“Goodness, how could I live with myself?”

Only Grafton caught the sardonic note and an appreciative sparkle lit his eyes.

Mornay started to move on, but one said, “Come, gentlemen, he's entering the parson's mousetrap tomorrow! We can't abandon 'im to matrimony without a fight.”

“No, by Jove! Look here, Mornay. You're about ta change, see? Planning a honeymoon, aren't ya? Then it'll be to Middlesex with you and the angel, and we won't get to see ya before the season ends! It's no good. You've got to come along—we just want ya for a little bit.”

“Let's take 'im to Boodle's! First a good supper and then a rubber of cards and—”

Mr. Mornay shook himself free. “Not this time. Go see Prinny for your supper, if you like, but I have an engagement.”

At that moment, Alvanley came out of Carlton House.

“Mornay! I've got a message for you.”

“From?”

“From the angel. Says she understands completely, you're to feel free to spend one last night with your friends.”

He almost grinned. They were trying so hard. “Alas, I am not available, gentlemen.” His voice was firm.

Brummell popped out of the circle. “Dash it, sir. Devilish unfriendly of
you. Do us the honour of a supper at the very least. Your sainted bride will have you all for herself soon enough. Aren't afraid of a woman's wrath, are ya?”

The men laughed at the thought.

Mornay frowned at him and folded his arms. “We've shared many a supper in the past. And we shall again—”

“No, sir, it must be tonight! 'Tis the eve of your wedding! We must be allowed to celebrate it with you.”

Mr. Mornay looked around at the group. There were roughly fifteen men, all looking at him hopefully. He'd spent many a night with most of them. They'd spoken of politics, of Prinny, of England, of hunting, shooting, and shows of pugilism. Horses. Dogs. Agriculture. Napoleon. They were friends, even if more than a few were buffle-headed pigeons at times.

“Very well,” he started to say, when their immediate outburst of “Huzzas!” forced him to silence. Holding up a hand, he shouted, “For a supper only, gentlemen! Then I must insist upon being off.” A fresh cheer went up, and they started to move in on him, pushing him along toward someone's gleaming coach. Mr. Mornay had to suppress a frown and refused to contemplate the damage they were doing to his new coat.

“Married men in our society do not cease to associate with their friends because they are married. Nor do they give up their club memberships! I will not disappear into the netherworld, I promise you!”

“Not the netherworld. Just under the cat's foot, is all, and we must have you now, while you're still your own man!”

“Under the cat's foot!” Worcester snorted a laugh.

“A mighty pretty cat, I'd say,” said another.

“Shut your bone-boxes!” shouted one man.

Mornay protested mildly but allowed himself to be carried, for it was useless to protest, to a carriage, where they finally hoisted him in with a jolly, “Heave Ho!”

Numerous men scrambled in after him. Alvanley jumped in and said, “Excellent! Well done, fellows! Let's to Boodle's! I'm all for getting foxed tonight! Mornay is to be wed, and we shall celebrate. The prince says we may expect him to join us!”

“Huzzah!”

“What did Prinny say?” one asked, as the coach wheels began to move.

“He's occupied for the next hour or two, but he wants us to keep ‘Mr. Hickenbotham' here at Boodle's until he arrives. He says he has only the
fullest sympathies for a man about to tie the knot and must endeavour to commiserate in style.”

“That isn't what he said to me,” Phillip responded.

“Well, he could hardly say it to your face, now could he?” To the other men, he shouted, “He'll help pay for the supper, gents!” Another round of huzzahs filled the air. Mr. Mornay glanced out of the coach and saw they were still on Pall Mall.

“So, Mornay, glad you aren't being a marplot!”

“I must send a note to Hanover Square, however.”

“Sure, sure, we'll send a boy from Boodle's. Your other half will understand.”

While they rounded the corner to St. Jame's, Phillip remembered the last time he'd been press-ganged by his friends into carousing with them. The last thing he needed was a repeat of that night. Besides, he would rather have been at Mrs. Bentley's right now than with these men. By Jove, he would! All right. He'd share a supper with them—and then extract himself and make it to Hanover Square. This was not going to be like the last episode. This time it was going to end his way.

W
hen Ariana's eyes popped open, the sun was just peeking over the horizon—as much of a horizon as could be seen over neighboring rooftops, that is. But it was enough to cause her sleepy eyes to flitter awake, and she knew at once that she could never return to sleep. It was her wedding day!

Her stomach was all aflutter. She rushed to the looking glass. Was her complexion good today? Whew, it was! She rushed to the wardrobe just to gaze at the new gown of white satin, silk, and opulent lace. The gown had a train of lace, and her gloves had a tiny lace edging at the elbows and along the seams to the wrists. Even her petticoat and chemise had lace trim, and she was excited at the thought of donning the garments. How seldom it excited her these days to wear a new gown, but this one was different! She could hardly contain herself, in fact. She happily drew the satin shoes from their resting place in the closet, just to be able to look at them and assure herself that the day had truly arrived.

In a flutter of joy, she tugged on the bellpull. Oh, if all women felt this happy upon their wedding day, then every woman must be married! She gave another yank to the cord. Evidently the servants weren't up yet, as no one answered the summons for minutes. By then she was already prancing down the hall and knocking on everyone's doors.

“Come, wake up! It's my wedding day!”

She made a quick circuit of the bedchambers and then was doubling back again, when her aunt came to her doorway and peered out at her, blinking back sleep. “It's your wedding day, yes, but I fail to see why that should give you the right to plunge the whole house into misery!”

“Misery? Oh, my
dear
Aunt!” She rushed to give the old lady an effusive
kiss on the cheek, much to Mrs. Bentley's annoyance. Mrs. Bentley wasn't prepared for familiarity before breakfast. But Ariana was oblivious. “No one must be miserable today! I want the whole world to be as happy as I am! And you, of all people, must be ecstatically happy!”

“I am happy. Very happy for you, my gel.” And then she started. “Oh, my! I'd almost forgot! It's
my
wedding day too!”

Ariana laughed. “Precisely!” And with that, she went whirling back down the hallway, her light cotton robe fluttering like a gossamer wing behind her.

Mrs. Bentley returned to her bed.
Oh, bother
. She supposed she ought to get up. Her guests would need to be seen to, her menu checked on—the servants could
so
throw a monkey in the pot, if she didn't watch them! Reluctantly she sat up and found her prayer book. Time for the morning's reading.

Mr. Timmons had gone to Grosvenor Square near ten thirty the previous evening, after giving up hopes of Mornay's joining him at Mrs. Bentley's house. Timmons had, after all, been invited, and he much desired to lay eyes on his friend, no matter if he had to wait up most of the night to do it.

Freddie installed the guest in the best parlour, as the rector would not countenance retiring for the night until Mr. Mornay returned home. He felt more than ever that he needed to see the man, needed to reassure himself that Mornay's new faith was taking root in his life. He'd rest easier for having some little proof that the man marrying the daughter of his excellent friends, the Forsythes, was indeed changed from his former ways.

Miss Forsythe had been concerned, he knew, when her betrothed failed to appear. It helped when a note, written in his hand, arrived and explained that he'd been enjoined to stay for supper at Boodle's and that even the prince expected him to stay. Though she tried not to show disappointment, Mr. Timmons was a good enough student of humanity to see that she hid it only with effort.

She told her family that the Regent required Mr. Mornay's presence, which impressed all of them mightily except for Mr. Timmons. He found himself hoping it was not a sign of a future pattern for the marriage. He was glad to know, then, that he'd be seeing Mr. Mornay later. He was glad to know now more than ever. The clock upon the mantel had slowly moved
to eleven o'clock, then midnight. He had dozed off, and now it was nearly two in the morning. Rather late for a man to be out on the eve of his wedding. He shook himself awake. He would wait to see Mr. Mornay if it took all night.

Princess Charlotte was eager to attend this wedding. Someday, if her father was right, Mr. Mornay might be one of her own advisers. She wanted to groom him for the part as much as her father did. Who knew? He might perhaps aspire to Prime Minister someday. He had twice the presence of most men and as much acumen, it seemed to her, as Perceval or Jenkinson.

Finally and perhaps this was most important of all, the princess actually liked Miss Forsythe in a way that she seldom liked people. She sensed a true spirit in the girl, the sort of soul she could trust. Most everyone wanted favours for return of friendship—it was an inevitable fact of being royal— but Mornay's betrothed seemed the sort that would love one for oneself. The princess wanted to nurture their acquaintance, therefore, and had prepared a miniature portrait of herself, a copy of the original by Cosway, the noted miniaturist. It was not a costly gift but personal enough to convey her best intention. Yes, today was her way of cementing what she hoped would be a long and lasting alliance with the soon-to-be Mr. and Mrs. Mornay.

When Mr. Timmons awoke on the wedding day, he blinked a few times and then came fully alert and sat up quickly. He had fallen asleep again, dash it! Bad luck! He had missed Mr. Mornay at his return. He collected himself and went looking for a servant—he never thought to reach for the bellpull. Seeing no one about, he descended to the ground floor and continued his search. Wait. He heard someone. He went toward the sounds.

The ladies in the kitchen were busily at work when they looked up and saw a disheveled and bewildered-looking man staring in at them.

“Bless me!” cried Cook, with a hand to her heart. “An' who might you be?”

“I am Mr.—Mr. Timmons. A rector. I'm looking for Mr. Mornay.”

“In the kitchens, sir?” One of the maids let out a giggle.

“Which—which room is his? Could you be so kind—”

“Wake the master? Oh,
no
, sir! I beg you, return to your chamber or the morning room. Breakfast will be done in a jiffy. Mr. Mornay is to be wed today, as you know, sir.”

“Yes.” He grew thoughtful a moment. “Do you know what time he got in last night?”

“Oh, bless me, sir! I'm not the butler or his val-lay!”

“Thank you.” He bowed slightly, bringing more giggles, and made his way back to the main hall. There he saw the butler just coming on duty, straightening his waistcoat.

“Good morning, sir!” Frederick said crisply.

“Mr. Frederick—” Mr. Timmons was greatly relieved. “I'm afraid I fell asleep in the parlour. Do you happen to know when Mr. Mornay got home last night?”

“I thought it best not to disturb you, sir.”

“I thank you, though I wish you had. What time did you say he got in?”

The butler regarded him a moment. “I must have been asleep by then, sir. I am not required to wait up for him, you know, though of course I like to. I'm afraid that last night I was very tired and—”

“Are you telling me that you didn't see your master last night?”

“That's right, sir.”

“Are you not concerned for him? Are you not worried that he is not home and this, his wedding day?”

The butler shook his head. “Not at all, sir! Mr. Mornay is well aware of his wedding today, I assure you. He will be ready on time.”

“When he has been out all night?” He looked squarely at the butler. “I need to know if the man is here. Would you check his chamber, please? If he is in any shape to rise, please ask him to do so and tell him that I am waiting for him in the ah…”

“The morning room, sir?”

“Yes. Very good. The morning room.”

“Very good, sir.”

As Freddie walked to the staircase, Mr. Timmons called out, “Excuse me, old chap, but which way is the morning room?”