Page 21 of Pride of Lyons

“What did it say, my dear? This must be the on-dit of the week.” Eyes big and blue, Emmaline raised her wineglass to her lips.

“Well, Lady Rochdale wrote to beg our pardon for Honoria’s disappearance, but the arrangement had come up so suddenly there had been no time to tell us of her whereabouts.” Caroline frowned again, looking like nothing so much as a gargoyle. “They could have sent a note, surely. To have us so inconvenienced is quite unconscionable. I’ve had to give up my lady’s maid to stay with Mama at night.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s quite tiresome, my dear,” Emmaline looked not one iota put out, “but what about Honoria?”

“Her father had sent a carriage to collect her, but before it arrived at the house, they discovered her in the park. She went with them immediately, back to the vicarage, and she and this Lord Braeton were married the following day.” His wife gazed about the table, her lips pursed. “It sounds like something out of a fairy story if you ask me.”

“I am more interested in why they married so quickly, sister.” Emmaline signaled the footman or more wine. “Do you think she’s breeding?”

Mrs. Edwards turned angry eyes on her daughter. “Emmaline, what a horrible thing to suggest about dear Honoria. She would never do anything so scandalous.”

“Then why would Lord Braeton marry her so unexpectedly, Mama?” His sister-in-law shrugged off the censure. “Unless she’d been no better than she should be.”

“That, dear sister, seems not to be the case.” Caroline sounded piqued that she could not encourage the slander of Honoria’s character. “Lady Rochdale obviously understands that people will wonder at such a grand match for little Miss Quinn and so informed me that there had been an understanding between the two families, based on a prospective inheritance that was to come to Miss Quinn upon the death of a distant relative. That relation apparently died recently, and so Lord Braeton wasted no time in securing Miss Quinn.”

Danford took a long sip of wine, wishing it had been brandy. Braeton had hit upon the one excuse for a hasty marriage that was both unexceptional and would be accepted without a second thought by the ton. No breath of scandal to promote there, more’s the pity. Still, he’d best tread lightly where Braeton and public dishonor were concerned.

But a chance for a private disgrace might still be had if he could just find Honoria. “Are they still here in London, my dear? We should call and wish dear Honoria happy.”

Caroline looked at him aghast. “Call upon Honoria?”

“That is a splendid idea, Danford.” Mrs. Edwards had perked up at the suggestion.

“No, it is not, Mama. Honoria was not kind enough to inform us of her departure, therefore I see no reason to honor her with a visit. Even if we could, for they have left Town according to his sister.”

“Where did they go?” Danford asked lightly, trying to pass the question off nonchalantly.

“She didn’t say exactly, although she intimates they went to Scotland. Something about visiting his properties to the far north.”

Damn. Danford clenched his teeth hard to keep the curse in. He could never follow Honoria so far. And who knew when they might return to London. His wife prattled on as his wonderful fantasy of Honoria crashed about his ears. He reached for his wine, and his attention was drawn to Caroline again.

“So, I must set one of the maids to packing her things. Braeton’s footman will call for her trunk tomorrow.” Caroline spoke in-between bites of the fish course.

Danford’s ears pricked up. Was this the chance he’d been waiting for?

“What an inconvenience, sister.” Emmaline popped a piece of bread and butter into her mouth. “But I suppose you cannot hold her things for ransom just because she displeased you.”

“Braeton is sending a footman for Honoria’s clothing?” Like manna from Heaven, a possible avenue presented itself that could shed light on her whereabouts.

“Yes, tomorrow afternoon the letter said. Lady Rochdale said she’d be most grateful. I wonder if that means we will be invited to her next soiree?” A predatory smile touched Caroline’s lips. “That would be most advantageous for us, don’t you think, sister?”

Their conversation swirled around Danford, who stared at the glass of blood-red wine before him and envisioned Honoria’s face, cheeks pink, mouth open, head flung back in ecstasy as he took her again and again. The mere thought made his groin ache and his member surge against the fabric of his breeches. Yes, he would take this God-given opportunity to find Honoria. Find her and have her at last.

Chapter Ten

A warm, gentle breeze ruffled the skirt of Honoria’s oldest gown, the one she’d started thinking of as her gardening frock, as she strolled through the riotously colorful blooms in the formal rose garden at Knowlton’s Keep. The heady perfume of the multitude of different roses made this the sweetest spot on the estate and Honoria’s favorite place there. In the past week, she’d sought it out almost every day as a tranquil retreat when the countess’s daily duties became overwhelming.

Fortunately, she was becoming used to the routine, little by little: breakfast in bed at her husband’s insistence, then an hour with the housekeeper and Cook setting tasks and menus for the day. After that nerve-wracking task—she always feared she would do or say something that would reflect badly on her or Thomas in the servants’ eyes—she allowed herself an hour to relax and write letters home. Honoria longed to write to Mrs. Edwards, but Thomas had been adamant about having no way to trace their whereabouts, so she’d settled for writing only to her parents and sister, Grace.

After luncheon, the modiste from Chichester had come, first to measure her and show her sketches of all manner of dresses, and later in the week to fit the dresses and decide on the final trimmings. Honoria had been aghast when Paxton informed her how many gowns she would be expected to own each Season. Her four or five good gowns for winter and the same amount for summer at the vicarage had arrived in the early part of the week, and Paxton had refurbished them beautifully.

According to her lady’s maid, however, once they returned to London, she might be required to change clothes four or five times a day. In addition, she’d be obliged to wear new garments each time she appeared in public. She’d been fearful that Thomas might be displeased at the cost of so many dresses, but he’d merely chuckled when she’d expressed concern, and told her he wanted her dressed to the nines whenever they appeared in Town.

“And it won’t be amiss if you wish to show off your new gowns when we dine, my dear.” His eyes had twinkled and warmed to a deeper brown as he spoke. “I will be happy to see you in your splendor in a private setting.”

Miss Potter, the modiste, had been as good as her word, delivering the first several completed garments yesterday, and promising the remaining ones by early next week. Honoria’s head spun when she thought about it. Paxton had also advised her to travel into Chichester early to shop for incidentals, such as hats, gloves, stockings, handkerchiefs, and the like. After her sessions with Miss Potter and Paxton, Honoria quite often slipped out to the garden to catch her breath and still her mind from the thousand things she must think about each day.

Now, serenity surrounded Honoria as she strolled toward her favorite rose bush, the old rose called sweetbriar or Eglantine. The velvety dark pink petals were not as showy as some of the other varieties in the garden, but their scent of sweet apples, especially after it rained, enchanted her senses. Taking the pair of garden shears from her cutting basket, Honoria selected several stems with multiple blooms and began to snip. Cutting and arranging vases of flowers was her most enjoyable duty as mistress of the Keep. She spent at least an hour in one of the gardens each day, gathering the beautiful flowers, then another pleasant hour or so arranging them. The myriad rooms in the castle kept her thus employed, creating charming vases for different rooms.