The Trouble With Honor (The Cabot Sisters #1)

Monica gasped. “You don’t think Lady Beckington—”

“No, no, no,” her mother quickly assured her. “But if she were mad, I don’t think one could predict if or when she might be prone to violent outbursts. But I think such unpredictability would not be safe for the new earl’s heirs.”

Monica’s heart began to pound in her neck. She had visions of a madwoman stealing her babies from their cribs. Hadn’t that happened a year or so ago? A madwoman had taken the child of her mistress, and they’d found the child dead some days later?

“Oh, dear, you are fretting!” her mother said. “Darling, I am not suggesting it would ever come to that, but... Well, you are my daughter. I am thinking of you, Monica.”

“But...but shouldn’t Augustine and I care for her if she’s mad?”

“Yes,” her mother said firmly. “However, that doesn’t mean you must reside with her. I should think there would be some place quite safe for her and her daughters that would not require the expense of ball gowns and such.”

Monica could not imagine Honor without fashionable gowns. But her mother smiled and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “You mustn’t fret. I am certain it’s nothing over which you should concern yourself.”





CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE JOURNEY TO Longmeadow took its toll on the earl; he was confined to his bed for two full days before he would feel strong enough to enjoy the warm weather that had followed the family from London.

That meant that the annual soiree at Longmeadow began without him for the first time. Barring some miracle, it likely would be the last time the earl attended the Longmeadow spring soiree, and the realization cast a pall over the entire family.

Prudence and Mercy took to disappearing to the stables to escape the somber mood, which, Grace opined, was not because of a sudden interest in all things equine, but a sudden interest in the strapping young men employed to keep the horses and the stables.

When the guests began to arrive, Grace kept a diligent eye on their mother, taking her for long walks in the gardens. It was clear that their mother was slipping further and further from them, and familiar pieces were disappearing every day.

Honor would do anything to have her loving, confident, sophisticated mother back. She thought of the carriage accident that had injured her mother. That had been the start of her mother’s troubles, and Honor believed that she would give up all that they had to go back to that day, forgo the material things, the haut ton, the soirees—anything to keep her mother from that carriage. If her mother had never married Beckington, if they’d remained in the modest house with only Hannah to tend them, would they not have been happy and whole?

Honor was determined to keep her mother from the Hargroves if at all possible this week, but it was difficult to do, as Monica had made it her task to advise Augustine on the preparations for the next three days.

Honor stumbled upon the pair of lovebirds and another gentleman in the green salon, which happened to be her favorite room in the sprawling Georgian mansion. The house itself was one of the largest manors in England. It was so big, four stories high, that there had been plenty of places four young girls had found to escape in years past. It was built on a square with a central courtyard and had been lovingly tended; ivy covered the front entrance, roses the back.

The green salon overlooked the private rose garden from a pair of floor-to-ceiling French doors through which the heavenly scent wafted into the room during the spring and summer, when the doors were left open. The walls of the salon were painted a soft green, the draperies sheer white silks. It was cozy and comforting, bright and airy. Of the twenty-some odd guest rooms, as well as salons and drawing rooms and morning rooms, none appealed to Honor more.

“Honor!” Augustine said delightedly when he saw her. “Thank goodness you have come,” he said, looking relieved. “You really must have a word with Mercy. She’s got Mrs. Hargrove in quite a dither with her gruesome tales of ghosts.”

“Longmeadow lends itself to gruesome ghost tales, Augustine.”

“Perhaps. But dear Mrs. Hargrove assured me she scarcely slept a wink last night.”

Having been subjected to Mercy’s tales for many years now and being very familiar with Mrs. Hargrove, Honor couldn’t imagine that she was the least offended by Mercy’s tales of headless ghosts with bloodied necks.

“You’ll speak to our Mercy, won’t you? I mentioned the problem to your mother, but she merely laughed and didn’t seem inclined to help.”

Honor’s breath hitched at the thought of Augustine speaking to her mother for any length of time. “My mother is occupied with the earl. I will be happy to speak to Mercy.”

“Augustine?” Monica said softly.