The House in Grosvenor Square by Linore Rose Burkard Page A

of the house. Mrs. Bentley was pointing out details to Mr. Pellham, who nodded and commented in turn.
    Miss Herley was moving slowly around the perimeter of the room, looking over the wallpaper and furniture and accessories, as if she was in a museum. Her mother was all agog, to be sure, but there was also a slight frown between her brows, as she wondered why her Lavinia couldn’t attract such a man of high standing and wealth. She eyed the expensive items in the room with a jealous eye.
    Mr. O’Brien was trailing his mother and saying very little, watching Ariana a great deal but speaking mostly to Beatrice, and then only to keep her exuberance in check. And there was Mrs. Hamilton, stiff and silent, coldly watching everyone. Once again Ariana felt that strange sense of detachment. It seemed odd to her that it was close to the wedding date, and yet she had no feeling of belonging to the house.

    Continuing on they went quickly through the remaining two guest bedchambers and then circled back to the first parlour. Ariana was keeping an eye out and now saw many pagan designs that she thought might be altered—but at the same time, she felt like a trespasser. How could she think of changing anything in such a dwelling? But then she knew she would feel more comfortable with less pagan designs surrounding her. Mr. Mornay had professed a newfound faith only two weeks earlier and at first had spoken with much enthusiasm regarding it. His love for God seemed to be growing steadily, had it not? Mr. Mornay, despite his recent reticence, would surely view the changes in the same light she did. He would welcome them. Just as he was welcoming her.
    Just then the merchants came eagerly into the room. “May I suggest, ma’am,” said one man, coming at her with a stare as though he was a hunter settling upon his prey, “a lighter wallpaper in this room?” Another said, “A new carpet is the thing needed here. An Axminster, I’d respectfully suggest, ma’am.” Ariana met each remark with an expression of consideration, but she remained silent as she moved on through the room, followed closely by the merchants.
    Her heart was beating palpably—if she failed to make the alterations right now, when the chance was before her, it would be because she was afraid that Mr. Mornay was indeed having a change of heart. Toward her, and even worse, perhaps toward God. Yet their history up to this time had been such that his love for her was clear and strong. She had to trust it. She had to trust that God had indeed brought them together and had good plans for their future as husband and wife.
    With that thought in mind, she told herself that she had every right to bespeak a few new things for the house. The bevy of men were following her every move, suggestions ringing out regularly, but she ignored them.
    A huge painted panel on the wall caught her eye, and she stopped before it. It was a masterfully executed pastoral scene, but the theme was an abundance of barely clad wood nymphs and a satyr. A picture of the Garden of Eden came to her mind. What a pleasing contrast it would be to this godless design. “Let me describe for you what I envision here,” she began, and two men jumped forward, pencils and pads in hand, prepared to take notes.

    Mrs. Herley, meanwhile, was overtaken with admiration for a little miniature portrait of the king, located on a section of wall in a corner amongother small pieces of artwork. She never could believe the monarch had gone mad, though Parliament had voted in favour of the Regency. But such a good king! So upright a monarch! She could not help but to stretch out her gloved hand and touch the glass.
    Across the room, the O’Briens had finished their inspection and were prepared to leave with Beatrice happily in tow. They said their goodbyes while Beatrice rushed at her sister for an effusive hug. Aunt Bentley said, “That’s enough, Miss Beatrice!