The House in Grosvenor Square (34 page)

Madame LaCroix had been looking out of her first floor bow window when she saw Mrs. Bentley coming down the street. Her brows knitted together. Madame LaCroix had once been a great beauty, and, even now in her golden years, was not unbecoming. She was a tall Frenchwoman living in Mayfair because her fortune had survived the Revolution—though her husband had not. There was a companion in the room with her.

“Mon Dieu!”
Madame LaCroix said beneath her breath. “Clarisse,” she called out, while motioning to her companion with one hand. Clarisse came and stood beside her at the window.

“Is that Madame Bentley?” she asked in French.

“
Oui
, madame. It is she.”

“
Biensûr!
How odd that she is alone and on foot. She seems to be in a hurry.”

“
Oui
, madame.”

“I must speak to her. I must know what is happening!” In a trice Madame LaCroix hurried to her front door, opened it, and stood, waving an expensive silk handkerchief.

“Madame Bentley! Helloooo, Madame!”

Mrs. Bentley came to a halt. “Oh, dear! Not Madame LaCroix. However will I explain my walking on the street alone?” As she approached the house, the Frenchwoman went so far as to step out onto the pavement to meet her.

How provoking! Everyone knew Madame LaCroix loved to gossip, and Mrs. Bentley had no wish to supply her with fodder. But wait. Perhaps Madame LaCroix knew something. Could it be that she might know something of Ariana and Mr. Mornay? Mrs. Bentley should have realized the great unlikelihood of this, but she was too tired to think better of it.

Madame lived in a three-storey Georgian structure like most of the houses on Brook Street, except that it sported the addition of a jutting bow window on the first floor.

“My dear Madame LaCroix!” she said, as she came up to her.

“My dear Madame Bentley!” She used her handkerchief to motion Mrs. Bentley into her home, saying, “Come in. Do come in!”

“Alas, madame, I have no time for a visit today.”

“But, madame! You must rest. Allow me to offer you some tea. You are tired, yes? And hungry? I have just the perfect thing for you, madame.” In the next minute Mrs. Bentley found herself sitting in the lady's opulent French-style parlour, in a well-stuffed chair, and already with a tray of French crème mints before her.

“I long to speak with you,” said madame, which was really no surprise to Mrs. Bentley for the woman always longed to speak with someone— anyone—who might share an
on-dit
, a secret, perhaps, or the latest news item. But on this occasion, Mrs. Bentley was hoping that madame would be the one to enlighten her.

In addition to the mints, madame rang for a tray of delicate French pastries that made even Mrs. Bentley's jaded tongue water. Madame was treating her with proper respect, at least. Not that
this
was any surprise. Mrs. Bentley's importance in society had certainly risen to a crest since her niece had won the hand of the Paragon
.

As her hostess chattered about this and that, Mrs. Bentley began to relax. Indeed this little break was precisely the thing, now that she thought on it, that she needed in her vexed and worried state. The tea was excellent— madame had the same suppliers that she did. And somehow she ended up, between bites of very fine pastry and sips of that tea, sharing her latest errand and her recent experience. Imagine it, an abduction attempt on her niece!
Then, before her very eyes, Miss Herley successfully nabbed! Mrs. Bentley herself had swooned, and she could not, in all her memory, remember having ever swooned before.

“Oh, but of course,
mon amie
!” sighed madame, displaying the very essence of understanding and concern. She was, in fact, an excellent, rapt listener. Why had Mrs. Bentley never realized it sooner? Madame could never be a gossip—she was a friend, a well-meaning, empathetic friend. She found herself revealing that, at Miss Forsythe's terrible disappearance, “Mr. Mornay was nearly beside himself!”

“Yes, beside himself! Of course! And what did he do?”

“What
could
he do?” she asked, as if there had never been a whit of doubt regarding it. “He insisted upon packing her off to Grosvenor Square, under guard, of course, to ensure her safety!” It sounded, as she told it, so very reasonable. So very like the thing any man would have done for the woman he was soon to marry.

But the next thing Mrs. Bentley knew, the lady was exclaiming that she didn't doubt they had eloped. This was the reason Mrs. Bentley found the house empty of its occupants just now. This was the solution Mr. Mornay must have seen was the only remedy to answer such a threat—of losing his bride!

“Oh, not at all,” Mrs. Bentley said suddenly and sharply. No matter that she had suspected the very same thing herself.

The Frenchwoman turned her head sideways and looked pityingly at Mrs. Bentley. “Oh, I think so, madame! Mr. Mornay, he does not take chances. He is a man who gets his desires!”

“And so he shall after the wedding, of course!” Mrs. Bentley did not like the direction the conversation had suddenly turned. “Mornay would never elope. The wedding is settled, and Miss Forsythe's family will be in Mayfair any day now for the event. There is no question of an elopement!”

But Madame was not to be deterred. “But when Mr. Mornay sees what scandal he started, how can he not elope? And you say they are gone? And you do not know to where? I think they elope!”

“You are severely mistaken, I assure you!” Mrs. Bentley stood up to leave.

“Do not take offense, madame,” said the foreigner. “I think elopement is…ah…the romantic thing. Very romantic. And who could not forgive a man who fears that his bride might be snatched from him at any moment.”

Mrs. Bentley blinked scathingly at the lady. “Your experiences in the
revolution have affected your brain, madame! I assure you, there has been no elopement!”

“But you say that Miss Forsythe spent the night at Grosvenor Square, yes?”

“Well, yes, but—” Suddenly Mrs. Bentley saw this admission in the light of day for what it was—scandalous! Madame LaCroix was exactly right! What did two house maids count for as chaperones? Miss Herley, who should have served as chaperone and would have shut the mouths of gossips such as madame, had never arrived. Instead she'd been abducted!

“Madame—I must go!” The ladies walked to the front door. Mrs. Bentley was suddenly in a great hurry, and Madame La Croix accompanied her, wearing a little, curious smile.

Mrs. Bentley had barely received her things from the butler as she was rushed out the front door. Behind her she heard, “
Bon jour
, madame! I thank you for stopping!”

Thank her for stopping, indeed! She halted and turned to give her hostess a knowing stare. “Before you rush out with your tale, madame,” she said, in a warning tone, “recall that it is the Paragon you may slander! And when you have been proved wrong, you will appear foolish, indeed! Not to mention you may get a public set-down!” These words did seem to have an effect on the lady, as her little smile vanished at the thought.

Dusk was approaching. She resumed her hurried pace toward home as fast as her aging feet could carry her.
Elopement, indeed!

She was still blustering to herself when she arrived at her dwelling, angrier than ever at herself for stopping at madame's.
Make no mistake
, she thought grimly,
I will find out exactly what is underfoot with Mornay and my niece, and if I am not perfectly satisfied, I will
want
them to elope! Perhaps I should have encouraged madame to believe that's what happened after all. It would mean they are married, that no impropriety has occurred. Why, I will take the couple to Scotland myself, if need be! Better an elopement than a scandal!

How exceedingly annoying that Madame LaCroix had to spot her on the street on this day of all days.
How foolishly I went, like a lamb to the slaughter, into her French dwelling. It is a lesson I will not soon forget.

I
would rather return to my aunt's house,” Ariana told her betrothed for the second time.

“You will on no account allow servants to intimidate you. I am with you now, and there is nothing for you to dread. On the contrary, if I have to give the boot to the whole lot of 'em to keep you comfortable and happy, I will do so.”

“Really? You would do that for me?”

Mr. Mornay hesitated. “Except for Fotch.”

“Really?”

“And Freddie, of course.”

“Freddie! Hmmph!”

Mornay looked around for any sign of ruffians, and then he hurried her to the door of his house. Dusk was approaching and a lamplighter was working his way down the street, leaving small dots of fuzzy light behind him.

“Does Freddie vex you?” Mornay asked. “I had the impression he was fond of you.”

“Until this morning, I was rather fond of him,” she replied.

His eyes narrowed. “Come. We'll get to the bottom of this right now.”

“I realize we must do this, but I am frantic to hear word of Miss Herley!”

Inside the hall Mr. Mornay eyed Freddie with a little extra attention. What on earth could have caused him to mistreat Ariana? Frederick knew immediately that his master knew all, and his mouth was set in a little, apologetic frown that he could not help. He felt a little guilty, if truth be told, but what could be expected of a man who was about to find himself on the street?

“Come to the study shortly, Freddie.”

“Yes, sir.” Now he'd get it! And then he'd give it! Why hadn't Mr. Mornay given notice to his staff? On what pretext was Miss Forsythe to base their dismissal? What provisions would the master supply for them between situations? Yes, he too had questions.

Madame LaCroix spent some time considering whether or not to spread word of a possible elopement of Mornay and his young bride-to-be. Despite anything Mrs. Bentley said in her objections, she kept returning to the fact that Miss Forsythe had been taken to Grosvenor Square before the wedding. It was simply too improper to the English to expect that the couple had any other respectable alternative! That was her case.

She called her manservant, Bouffant. “Prepare the carriage. I have places to go.” She went to her toilette and, with her lady's maid, prepared herself. Even at her age, Madame was still a willowy figure and could wear an evening gown to good effect. Moreover, she believed that a lady on a mission did not go forth in shabby attire. Besides, her affluence tended to lend credence to her gossip, though being French was a detraction because their countries were at war.

She started off in early evening, therefore, dressed in rich silk, satin, and lace. Her companion, Clarisse, was at her side.

Mr. Mornay was eager to question his servants, beginning with the butler, but first he had to know if there was news of Miss Herley during his absence.

“Any messages?” he asked, as Freddie received his hat, coat, and gloves, and then Miss Forsythe's articles. Ariana was still anxious to hear the servant's answer with trepidation. Had Miss Herley been recovered?

“Mrs. Bentley called while you were out.”

They both looked on with interest.

“Did she say what her errand was?” Ariana was unable to contain her curiosity and had to ask. Servants could be so slow to impart news.

“She asked for you, ma'am. She said that it is believed Miss Herley is safe—”

“Oh, thank God!” Ariana touched Phillip's arm, and he quickly put his hand upon hers.

“That's excellent!” he murmured. “Is Miss Herley returned to her home then?”

“She didn't say, sir.”

“Was there anything else?”

“That a Lord Antoine has been taken into custody—temporarily to Newgate.”

“Lord Antoine!” Ariana gasped. “My goodness! You were so right to warn the Herleys against him! And to think that Lavinia hoped to marry him, when all along he was indeed an
errant knave
!”

Mr. Mornay nodded. “I'm glad to learn of it. I was beginning to think I had spoiled a love match.”

“Evidently not!” she said, still blinking at the thought of what a scoundrel the man was to have abducted Lavinia, who admired him so.

“Mrs. Bentley also wishes to inform you, sir, that she wants her niece ‘returned to Hanover Square, directly.'” He paused and added, “She was most decided upon that point.”

“You see?” Ariana said. “I must go home.”

“You've slept here already. It no longer signifies if you do so again. Your aunt is welcome to join you, but I am determined to keep you here. I am certain you are safer here, and that's all there is to it.”

When they were alone except for a single servant who stood against a wall awaiting a small supper in the second parlour (because the dining room was in disarray and the morning room was not comfortable enough for their tired bodies), Ariana became suddenly aware that she had Mr. Mornay to herself. She turned to him and snuggled into his arms.

“I am so relieved that Lavinia is safe!”

“Of course you are,” he said. At first he reveled in the embrace as much as she did—or perhaps more—and then he gently extricated himself, just as a maid came in, added wood to the fire, and left again.

Ariana pressed herself into his chest, saying, “And now I am safe, and I am with you!” She snuggled her head against him and was very happy, but he pulled her away from him. After stroking her hair once and then the side of her face, he turned and quickly went to a wing chair, where he sat down tiredly.

She looked after him, studying him. He felt her gaze and said, “After we get some food in us, I think it will be high time for both of us to get some
sleep.” He rubbed his eyes wearily, and for the first time it occurred to Ariana that he might not have slept well for near two days.

“Did you get any sleep this morning after we arrived?”

He met her eyes. “A few hours. 'Tis of no consequence. I'll make up for it tonight, I'm certain.”

“You've been up since yesterday morning! You spent all of last night searching for me and rescuing me. And now you've been out all day on my account!”

“Not entirely. I went out to try and find your friend.”

“And then you had to fetch me from the O'Briens, and now the whole day has passed, and you have had no opportunity to rest at all!”

He gave a little smile. “Am I getting a set-down for my trouble?”

Her eyes melted. “Not at all. I am sorry for it, that's all.” She started toward him, but there was a sound at the door, and then Freddie was there.

“I have a note by special messenger—from the Regent, sir.”

When Madame LaCroix set out from her house with her companion, she chose to stop first at a nearby soiree and speak to a few choice characters of a
rumour
she had heard, and then she left the house. Afterward she stopped at a ball she would have happily ignored but needed to drop a few words—it was only a
suspicion
she had heard, and of course, she had no proof—into the right ears. She used her box at Covent Garden—madame was popular—to tell everyone who dropped in of the outrageous report (which just could
not
be true, she was certain!) she had heard at the soiree and then at the ball. By the time she was back in her own house near eleven o'clock—an early night, but an effective one—she knew her
on-dit
was secure. Ah, now she could sleep well.

The news of the Paragon eloping with Miss Forsythe was such a delicacy that the
bon ton
wished to share it with their neighbors. Such a stir of excitement in ballrooms across the West End! So many disapproving sounds of the tongue from ladies of upright character! Such a flurry of moving carriages, more activity than usual, so that the roads were crowded all evening instead of only during the usual busy hours. Messengers delivered hastily written
notes to friends and acquaintances, and, as was inevitable with such a thing, word reached Carlton House. The Regent was regaled with the news by his mistress, who had just heard it from a most trusted source.

Mrs. Bentley, of course, had opted to remain home this night, still recovering from the undue excitement and nervous strain she had endured. A flurry of messages did arrive at her residence, but Haines was putting them on her desk for another time, as ordered. The mistress needed to sleep and had even taken that dose of laudanum to that effect. She wanted no interruptions unless it was Ariana herself come home.