The House in Grosvenor Square Read Free

people. Child vagabonds could be seen huddling in doorways. Pedestrians stopped what they were doing to watch the shiny black coach with its high-steppers and try to get a glimpse of the dignitaries who must be inside such a vehicle.
    Ariana sat back. She had seen enough of the poor and indigent in London to know that compassion alone was worthless as far as helping anyone went. Further, she had no wish to seem pitying or condescending. The poor were entitled to dignity like anyone else. She had welcomed today’s invitation precisely because of her wish to help London’s less fortunate citizens. This had been a desire of her heart since coming to London earlier in the year. Her world had become a disheartening juxtaposition of unbelievable wealth against a backdrop of the ever-present poor.
    Looking across at her suitor, she suddenly wondered if it would jar with his disposition to become a philanthropist? Certainly it was expected of the wealthy, wasn’t it? Even in her little town of Chesterton, it was the wealthiest families, those with the huge estates, who held the annual balls, the Harvest Home, and the Christmas hall festivities. Mr. Mornay was part of this wealthy class. She hoped it would fall to her as his wife to organize charitable events.

    â€œAriana!” She was torn from her thoughts by her aunt’s strident tone. “Did you say which street the orphanage is on?”
    Before Ariana could reply, Mr. Mornay spoke in her stead, “The society is on Folgate Street, Spitalfields. Just north of Spitalfields Market.” He met Ariana’s eyes and added, “I own a property on the street, you know.”
    â€œDo you?” She was greatly surprised. It was not a fashionable part of the city. “A house?” she asked, trying to prolong the conversation. Finally he was at least giving her his attention.
    â€œA tenement.”
    Mrs. Bentley’s curiosity got the best of her. “ You own property there ?”
    He gave a rueful smile. “Won it in a wager, I’m afraid. My man of business sees to letting it and so forth. I’ve never laid eyes on it, actually, though I’ve been meaning to give it a look.”
    Mrs. Bentley fished an expensive, lace-edged handkerchief from her reticule and held it now over her mouth and nose, as if the mere fact of passing through the neighbourhood might result in being exposed to noxious vapours.
    Mr. Pellham took her other hand and patted it soothingly.
    Beatrice, all eyes, extended her own hand out toward Mr. O’Brien. “Would you like to take my hand, Mr. O’Brien?” she asked.
    His eyes opened rather wide, but before he could say anything, Mrs. Bentley chided, “Hush!” and, reaching across Ariana, landed a harmless slap with her handkerchief to the girl’s outstretched hand. Why do youngsters have to do the most foolish things imaginable? Isn’t it enough that I have had to steer Ariana clear of the future cleric? Will I now have to do the same for my younger niece when she comes of age?
    Mr. O’Brien, meanwhile, smiled briefly at the girl to be kind, but he was much more concerned, despite his best efforts, with her elder sister. He was quite ill at ease in the presence of the striking Miss Forsythe, and so he smoothed his coat lapels and adjusted his cravat to cover his discomfort. He’d been taking as many glances at Ariana as he could safely take, all the while trying to conceal his admiration of her. He had lost her to Mornay, there was no way around it, but it was a difficult pill to swallow, indeed.
    Mr. O’Brien had entertained hopes of forming a betrothal with Ariana. He was not wealthy, and he was Irish—both of which were not in his favour, particularly with the standards that Miss Forsythe’s aunt seemed to demand from any of her niece’s would-be suitors. He was mildly uncomfortable, therefore, despite his being included on Beatrice’s account. (The