The Trouble With Honor (The Cabot Sisters #1)

Augustine didn’t intimidate her; he was genuinely adoring of her. Her parents were over the moon at her engagement, and the sooner Monica married Augustine, the happier they would be. Who would have thought that their daughter would marry a titled man and become a countess?

Monica knew that Honor believed her understanding with Augustine was all by design, but in truth, it had happened quite honestly. At first, Monica had been amused by Augustine’s attentions. He was a bit too round for her tastes, and he could be a bit of a bumbler at times. But as days turned into weeks, she’d grown rather fond of him. He was very attentive and sincere in his devotion to her. It certainly didn’t hurt that he would one day be an earl, or that Monica would preside over the Beckington estates as Lady Beckington. Monica had grown accustomed to the idea, and she truly believed that she and Augustine would have a family, and she would live quite contentedly.

She hadn’t really given any thought to his stepsisters until her mother suggested that six in a marriage of two might be a bit crowded. “I hope you won’t need to vie for Sommerfield’s attentions with all those girls,” she’d said laughingly. Or, “Ah, isn’t Honor’s gown lovely? I hope there will be enough money for you to be clothed in that manner when you are countess.”

Now Monica did not see a gaggle of stepsisters in her rosy view of the future.

Speaking of which... Monica glanced over her shoulder now. A pair of gentlemen had intercepted Honor, and they were laughing as if she’d said something terribly witty. Even from here, Monica could see the twinkle in Honor’s eye.

Monica turned away from that scene and was startled by Lady Chatham, who had appeared from seemingly nowhere to stand directly beside her.

“Lady Chatham,” Monica said, dipping a curtsy.

“Good evening, Miss Hargrove,” she said cheerfully. “Have you come alone? Where is your handsome fiancé?”

“He won’t be attending this evening. He had a prior commitment.”

“I see,” Lady Chatham said.

Monica could almost hear the little mice wheels turning in the woman’s head, stuffing away gossip to be doled out in enticing little bits to her friends on the morrow. “I have come in the company of my cousin, Mr. Hatcher,” Monica added.

“Mr. Hatcher is a dear,” Lady Chatham said, as if she knew him. “I see the Cabots have arrived. At least Miss Cabot is wearing pearls in her hair and no one’s bonnet this evening.”

Really, that entire incident had spiraled out of control. Monica had commissioned the hat, but when she’d gone round, the price was much greater than the proprietress had led her to believe it would be. She hadn’t intended to purchase it—but why did Honor have to be the one to take it?

“That was just a trifle, really. I didn’t care for the bonnet at all.” She smiled, hoping that bit of untruth was not noticed.

“Well, neither did I,” Lady Chatham agreed. “It seemed to me designed to draw attention, and that, Miss Hargrove, is not the way young ladies should behave.”

Monica didn’t think that the bonnet was as showy as that, and neither did she think for a moment that Honor was concerned about appearances to old women like Lady Chatham. Quite the contrary—Honor was perfectly happy to take risks, to flaunt society rules. That was the difference between them—Honor always pushed, and Monica followed the rules.

“Miss Hargrove.”

Monica turned slightly to see Thomas Rivers standing beside her.

“Lady Chatham,” he said, inclining his head to the older woman, before smiling at Monica again. “Miss Hargrove, will you do the honor of standing up with me?”

Lady Chatham waved her fingers and trilled, “Of course, of course! You must dance and be merry, Miss Hargrove, for soon you will be a married woman.”

“Pardon?” Monica said, confused as to what, exactly, Lady Chatham had meant, but she’d already swanned away.

Mr. Rivers led her onto the ballroom floor. The dance began with a pair of turns, one way, then the other. On the second turn, Monica happened to catch sight of George Easton, who, surprisingly, was watching her. Monica twirled the other way.

George Easton, here? She knew Easton instantly, of course—everyone knew him. One did not claim to be the nephew of the king and escape attention. Recently, she’d heard he had jeopardized his fortune.

How had he gained entrance? Lady Feathers, the lead patroness of the assembly, was quite strict in her rules of entry, and Monica could not imagine that she would ever allow the bastard son of the Duke of Gloucester to enter, particularly as the current duke was disdainful of the man he called a pretender.

The dance came to an end, and Mr. Rivers escorted Monica from the dance floor. She declined his offer for a drink and watched him move away, searching for his next dance partner.