The Trouble With Honor (The Cabot Sisters #1)

Honor adored the stately old footman. “Thank you, I shall dress accordingly.” She turned back to Augustine with a bright smile.

“Then hurry along and dress, will you?” Augustine asked. “Mercy insists on regaling us with some gruesome tale of walking cadavers,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “It has put me off my breakfast. The lass could use a firm hand if you ask me.”

“Oh, no, we can’t have that,” Honor said, wondering where Augustine’s firm hand had gotten off to this morning. She gave Foster another sly smile, then darted up the stairs to her rooms to dress.

*

RAIN CONTINUED TO pour through breakfast and into the noon hour with no sign of abating. Honor spent the late morning reading to her stepfather. The damp weather did not help the poor man’s situation, and he lay against the pillows, his eyes fixed on some point well beyond this room. He looked sad and exhausted. His once robust cheeks were sunken, his hands bony, his eyes rheumy.

At some point during her reading of Wordsworth’s Lyrical Ballads, the earl closed his eyes. Honor quietly closed the book of poetry and carefully rose from her seat. She tiptoed across the carpet and had all but slipped through the door when the earl said roughly, “Honor, darling.”

She turned back. His arm was outstretched, as if he’d tried to touch her as she’d slipped by him. “Are you all right?” she asked, moving back to his side. “Is anything the matter? Shall I fetch Mamma?”

He gestured for her hand, and she wrapped her fingers around his. “You must look after your mother when I’m gone,” he said, his voice hoarse from coughing.

“Of course.”

“Heed me, Honor—she’ll have no one but her daughters to ensure she comes to no harm. Do you understand?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.

He knew. The earl knew what she and Grace suspected—that her mother was slowly losing her mind. “I understand you very well, my lord.”

“I have loved your mother these many years,” he said. “I believe Augustine is quite fond of her, but my son is weak. He is easily influenced. He is a good man, but I think too eager to please others.”

“Perhaps,” Honor reluctantly agreed. “My mother has loved you, my lord, as have we all. I give you my word I shall look after her.”

The earl patted her hand. “How will you do it, my dearest Honor? I’ve been too lenient with you, haven’t I, allowing you to flit about. Is there no one who might have caught your eye?”

Honor’s heart fluttered; she thought of Rowley, how she had pined for him. “There was one, but he didn’t desire me.”

The earl made a clucking sound. “Then he is a fool. I suppose the thought of keeping a beautiful woman in style can seem quite daunting to some gentlemen.”

“But I don’t care about things so much,” Honor said.

The earl smiled. “No? You’ve certainly made use of my coffers.”

She smiled guiltily, but shook her head. “I like things well enough, my lord, but they are only things. If I loved someone, truly loved, nothing else would matter.”

“If you find love again, my darling, latch on to it and hold tight. It’s a rare bird, far too fine to let go. And don’t be afraid of hurt. It serves its purpose and makes you appreciate love even more.”

“Yes, well,” she said, and glanced down. She did not care for the pain of losing love. She preferred to avoid it at all costs.

“You’re a good girl, Honor. I don’t care a whit what anyone else may say.” He sighed, let go of her hand and let his head loll to one side. “Send Jericho in, will you?” he asked, referring to the man who had been his valet, and had, in the past two years, become one of his closest caretakers. He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh.

Honor found Jericho and sent him to check on the earl, then followed the sound of sprightly music downstairs. As she walked through the foyer, Foster happened to step in through the main door, pausing at the threshold to shake the water off his cloak and his hat.

“Foster! Have you delivered it, then?”

“Aye, miss,” he said as he put his hat aside.

“And? Was there a reply?”

“No, miss. The butler said the gentleman had not yet returned home from the evening, and he’d hand it over when he arrived.”

Not yet returned home? A curious little tickle went through Honor—there was only one place a man might stay all night and well into the morning, wasn’t there? A warm bed, she reckoned, with a curving body to warm it. Fields of gold. Another, stronger, tickle went through her.

“Thank you,” she said to Foster distractedly.