The House in Grosvenor Square by Linore Rose Burkard

Farther down the hall were the bedchambers, and by now Ariana’s demeanour had become quite serious. She was feeling downright daunted by her future home. Evidently people of great taste and knowledge had furnished it. How could she aspire to alter a single thing?
    Mrs. Hamilton stopped at a door, her hand on the knob. “This is the Master’s bedchamber,” she said, beginning to turn the handle. Ariana’s heart beat strongly. Miss Herley tried to make her smile by making a face at her and opening her eyes wide.
    â€œAre we not,” Ariana said to the housekeeper, “intruding on Mr. Mornay’s privacy?”
    The lady turned in surprise. “The Master instructed me to show you all of the house, ma’am.”
    â€œYou will wish to see this room, my dear,” said Mrs. Bentley.
    Mrs. Hamilton led the way and then stepped to the side, as she did throughout the tour. She was not forthcoming with facts about the house or any of its possessions, and Ariana wondered at her lack of enthusiasm. There was no affection in her tone or manner, which was surprising. It was not unusual for upper servants to feel as if the house they served in was their own, and many would display all due pride when showing it. But not Mrs. Hamilton.
    Thoughts of the housekeeper fled as Ariana entered the room and had to pull in her breath at the sight. In addition to watered-silk wallpaper and a large and glossy mahogany bed, the ceiling had a huge painted roundel. Against a rich blue sky with light puffs of clouds, there were heavenly angels and cherubs with musical instruments surrounding a centre of light in bright hues of yellow and gold and white. It was heavenly. It was glorious. It was— religious ! Just the sort of thing she wished to see more of in the house.
    Mrs. Bentley had been watching her reaction and had a little, knowing smile on her face. Miss Herley rushed and grasped her hand. “I should never have a night’s poor sleep in such a room! You must endeavour to sleep here, Ariana, as much as possible!”
    Mr. O’Brien did not turn to look at them but cleared his throat loudly. The two girls noted it and then looked at each other. Lavinia, with one hand to her mouth, stifled a giggle.
    Beatrice had rushed around the room, saw the adjoining dressing room,and came back to say, “I think Mr. Mornay is as rich as the Regent! Or perhaps richer! For the prince, I heard my father say, is always in want of money.”
    Ariana was too in awe of the house—and its owner—to offer a reply. It was as though she had not known him, in a way. She had hoped to discover more about him by studying his house, but not simply that his wealth was vastly greater than she’d imagined. He was already too easily intimidating, and his recent disinterested attitude toward her only made him seem more so now. He was truly from a background that was surperior to hers, in a worldly sort of reckoning.
    She looked back up at the ceiling. The angels looked serenely back at her. She tore her eyes from the room to pass through a communicating door to the next bedchamber. It was no less impressive. Whoever had designed the house had evidently understood that people liked to occasionally spend time in their bedchambers. A beautiful escritoire sat invitingly off to one side, and there was an adjoining dressing room here as well. It was lovely, indeed, but—separate bedchambers?
    At home her parents shared one room. She looked back at the communicating door and felt an odd emptiness in her heart. Then a pang. Instead of feeling closer to the man she was going to marry, this day seemed to be accenting their recent lack of closeness. Did Mr. Mornay, then, not hold to the idea of a single bedchamber for the master and mistress? Despite her natural shyness of what the marriage bed represented, she felt disappointed.
    Meanwhile Mrs. Herley and Mrs. O’Brien were enraptured, as they had been at every bit