The Trouble With Honor (The Cabot Sisters #1)

She carried on to the music room, imagining Easton with a woman, linens sliding away from his nude and rigid body as he demanded more from his conquest. Who was the woman? Lady Dearing?

In the music room, she found her sisters. Prudence was playing the pianoforte—she was the most musically inclined of the four of them, with an ear that Honor envied. Grace was seated at a table, her quill dancing across the page as she penned a letter. Mercy was on her belly before the hearth, her knees bent and her ankles crossed. She was slowly turning the pages of fashion plates in Lady’s Magazine. A soft fire glowed in the fireplace, and candles were lit around the room to chase away the gloom of the rainy day.

“Who are you writing, Grace?” Honor asked as she took a seat on the settee and curled her feet beneath her.

“Cousin Beatrice.”

“She’s not our cousin,” Honor corrected her.

“No?” asked Prudence, pausing in the midst of her music.

Honor shook her head. “She and Mamma were childhood friends, so close that they took to calling each other cousin. Why on earth are you writing her, Grace?”

“Because she resides in Bath, and I should like to know if perchance she has seen Lord Amherst there. I understand he is not yet in London.”

Honor blinked. “Amherst? Why?”

“Honor, really!” Grace said with a pert smile. “It’s a private concern that I would think you’d have guessed.” Honor could not guess, but Grace glanced meaningfully at Mercy, who had stopped flipping the pages of the magazine to stare intently at Grace.

“What is it?” Mercy demanded. “Why do you never tell me anything?”

“Because you are a child. What do you think of this piece?” Prudence asked, and began to play another sprightly tune.

Mercy pushed back onto her knees and adjusted her spectacles as she listened. “I adore it!” she said a moment later, and leaped to her feet. She began to do the figures from a reel around the salon, her arms outstretched, light on her toes.

Honor smiled at her younger sister. Dancing was the thing she needed to banish the gloom from her thoughts, and hopped up to bow and extend her hand like a gentleman. Mercy eagerly caught it, and the two of them began to dance to Prudence’s airy song. Grace put down her pen, clapping in time to the music. “Higher, Mercy,” she said when the steps called for a hop. “Don’t drag your foot, dearest—jump.”

Mercy jumped. Prudence began to play faster, forcing Mercy and Honor to quicken their steps, spinning around and around. All of them laughed at the absurd pace of the music, and didn’t notice Hardy until he stood at the pianoforte, his silver tray in hand.

“Hardy!” Honor said breathlessly as she and Mercy collided to a stop. “We didn’t see you there.”

“No, miss. I could not be heard over the music and the giggling,” he drawled.

Prudence stood, stretching her arms high above her head. “What’s that?” she asked, nodding at the silver tray.

“A caller,” he said, bowing lightly. “For Miss Cabot.”

Mercy was too quick for Honor—she darted in front of her sister and tried to grab the card before Honor could reach it. In spite of looking rather ancient, Hardy was a nimble man—he quickly lifted the tray above Mercy’s head, and her leap fell short.

“Hardy!” Mercy complained.

“Behave,” Honor said, and reached high above her sister to take the card from the tray. Her heart instantly did a bit of a flutter when she read the name: George Easton.

That little flutter of hesitation cost her, for Mercy was able to read it. “Who is George Easton?”

Grace gasped and stood from the writing desk, hurrying forward to have a look. “You didn’t invite him, did you?”

“No! That is, I sent a note, but I didn’t think he’d come—”

“Who is he?” Prudence demanded, crowding in beside her sisters, trying to view the card.

“Not someone you should know,” Grace said quickly, and to Hardy she asked, “Where is Augustine?”

“At his gentlemen’s club.”

“Hardy, will you please ask Mr. Easton to wait a moment while we...” She fluttered her fingers; Hardy apparently thought the gesture meant that he should quit the salon, and bowed before going out and shutting the door behind him.

Honor whirled about and stared at the windows, her heart racing as quickly as her mind. “Good Lord, he has come here!”

“Who is he?” Prudence demanded. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“Thankfully, because you are not yet out and not aware of the sort of men that lurk,” Grace said darkly.

“Grace! That is hardly fair,” Honor protested. “It’s not as if he is courting me.”

“Then why has he come at all?” Mercy asked, confused.

Honor ignored Mercy—she had just realized that her hair was down, and she was dressed in the plainest gown she owned. She quickly pinched her cheeks for a bit of color.

“And why are you doing that?” Grace demanded.

“Because she fancies him!” Mercy said delightedly.