The Trouble with Honour

“Wasn’t it you who insisted that I accompany you and Mamma and the girls riding in Hyde Park? If I hadn’t seen Easton there, I should have carried on without giving the matter another thought.”

Grace gaped at her. And then she burst out with wild laughter and fell back against the cushions of the chaise. “That is the most absurd reasoning I have ever heard!”

Honor couldn’t disagree with that, either. “All right,” Honor acquiesced, sinking onto the end of the chaise next to Grace. “I will allow that I was a bit impetuous. But, Grace, the idea was so fresh on my mind, and there he was, escorting the Rivers twins, of all people. It occurred to me that if he would squire those two magpies, he would most certainly think Monica an improvement.”

“Of course he would think Monica an improvement over those two, but that is hardly the point, is it? The point is that you went to meet the man quite alone, a man you scarcely know, and you proposed something absurd and reckless and full of ruin.”

“That’s one view,” she said wearily. “If a woman is to make her way in this man’s world without a husband, she must risk quite a lot to succeed. It’s not as if I have a solicitor to call upon his solicitor. It’s not as if I can offer Monica money to find another suitor. I am a female, and as such, I have nothing available to me to change anything about my life but my hand in marriage. I find it altogether infuriating if I allow myself to dwell—”

“Honor—”

“Yes, well, to put your mind somewhat at ease, I met him in front of Gunter’s Tea Shop. No one saw me but Jonas. Easton stepped into the coach, and we talked.”

Grace seemed genuinely distressed by that revelation, judging by how she buried her face in her hands. Honor tried to soothe her by stroking her hair. “I don’t see another option for us, dearest.”

“You must have a care for your reputation, which, I might point out, has already been suspect on several occasions.” Grace lifted her head to arch a golden brow high above the other, daring Honor to challenge that.

“I’ve not been that bad,” Honor muttered.

“Can you imagine the talk that would gust like winter winds around this square if anyone were to see you?”

“I am acutely aware.” Honor knew she was too impetuous for her own good. She had no desire to see her reputation ruined, and she understood Grace’s concern.

“Never mind all that, then, you’ve gone and done it.” Grace suddenly twisted around to face her “Well? What did he say?”

Honor smiled slyly at her sister. “He said that I was reprehensible.”

Grace gasped.

“But that he would consider it.”

Her sister didn’t breathe for a moment. “What? He will?”

“I will know on the morrow.” Honor stood up and began to unbutton her spencer. “If he agrees, he shall call here.”

“Here! That’s all well and good for outsiders, but what will Augustine think?”

“Grace, calm yourself. Augustine can think of nothing but his nuptials. I asked Mr. Easton to call at half past two, when the girls are in their studies and Augustine is out at his club for the day.”

Grace looked set to argue, but the sound of a painful racking cough drifted down the hallway to them; they both paused. A moment later, they heard their mother’s steps hurrying in that direction.

Grace sank back onto the chaise. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” she asked morosely, referring to the deteriorating health of the earl.

“I think so,” Honor agreed.

“Your plan is utter madness, you know.”

“That is the kindest thing you might say for it,” Honor said, and squeezed in next to her sister, nudging her with her shoulder. “But at least it’s diverting madness.”

Grace smiled ruefully. “I fear you are far beyond hope.”

“Not at all, dearest—I am absolutely bursting with hope,” Honor said. A movement caught Honor’s eye; she sat up and turned toward the door. Her mother was standing in the opening, staring into the room.

“Mamma?” Honor said, coming to her feet. “Is something wrong?”

Lady Beckington frowned slightly.

“Mamma,” Honor said again, moving to her mother’s side. “Did you mean to see to the earl?”

“Oh, Honor,” her mother said, her relief clearly evident. “You’re home! Yes, the earl is unwell. I should see to him,” she said, and squeezed Honor’s hand affectionately as she turned and hurried down the hall to the earl’s rooms.

Honor looked back at Grace. “I don’t understand it. Not a quarter of an hour ago she was perfectly all right.”

“We should have Dr. Cardigan come,” Grace suggested.

“And risk the ton knowing before the earl is even gone? Dr. Cardigan sees every old biddy in Mayfair! We can’t, Grace. Not until we absolutely must.”

It was heartbreaking to watch a beloved mother slide ever so softly into senility. Joan Devereaux, so charmingly clever—Honor could not think of a single person who had a poor opinion of her. She’d been amazingly resourceful, too—she’d known how to navigate a ballroom better than anyone, and had managed to keep her daughters well after her husband had died. Honor had been only eleven years old, but she could recall her mother taking two old gowns to a friend, and together, they’d created a stunning ball gown. Her mother had donned it and gone off to a grand ball and the next morning had gathered her four daughters in her bed and told them about the Earl of Beckington.

It was necessity that had driven her mother to seek the earl’s attentions, but Honor truly believed that her mother had come to care very much for the older earl. Certainly no one in Mayfair would blame Lady Beckington if she left the earl’s care to a nurse, but she’d refused to do so. She saw to him every day.

The sound of the earl’s racking coughs reached them again. “I’ll go and help her,” Grace said, and stood from the chaise to go. At the door, however, she glanced back at her sister. “Do have a care, Honor. You are playing a very dangerous game.”

“I will,” Honor promised.

Later, Honor would recall that moment with Grace and her easy promise. She hadn’t believed George Easton would really come to Beckington House.

But he did.

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_464b16b0-4b10-5e1f-92ad-7259c2b14470)

IT TOOK QUITE a lot to astonish George, but Honor Cabot had done just that. From her bold invitation to meet, to her ridiculous, preposterous, cake-headed suggestion, George could not have been more astonished than if the king were to recognize him as his legitimate nephew.

Yesterday, he’d left Berkeley Square stewing in his own juices, aroused as he always was by prettiness, and as disgusted with Miss Cabot as he was with himself for somehow softening to her charm again. He couldn’t fathom what it was about this debutante that could so keenly capture him with a smile, but he’d been determined to never see her again. She was trouble. In fact, he’d even been of half a mind to ride directly to Beckington House and explain to the dimwitted Sommerfield exactly what his stepsister was about. She deserved no less.

But George hadn’t gone to Beckington House. He’d gone home, riding hard from a pair of dark-lashed blue eyes shimmering in his mind’s eye.

Bloody, bloody hell.

Still, he thought that after a good night’s sleep, that would be the end of it, that he’d not give as much as a passing thought to the young woman again. He’d gone out last night as was his custom, had dined with several gentlemen at the Coventry House Club. But he’d had no interest in cards or prattling, and had returned home before midnight.

Finnegan had not said a word when George had stalked into his house far earlier than was his custom. He’d merely arched one dark brow high above the other as he’d taken George’s hat. “Don’t look so smug,” George had snapped as he’d strode past.

George had gone to bed quite early, but then had tossed and turned. He’d finally settled on his back, one arm draped above his head, the other on his bare abdomen, and had glared at the canopy above him, his jaw clenched, mulling over that absurd meeting.

Honor Cabot’s suggestion was the most fatuous thing he’d ever heard in his life. Furthermore, it was the very thing that made him cringe when he saw squads of young debutantes milling about Mayfair—silly girls in pretty colors playing silly courtship games.

But worse, the game Honor Cabot played was harmful.