The Trouble With Honor (The Cabot Sisters #1)

He looked at his fiancée, then said, “Oh, yes! Forgive me. Honor, I should like to introduce you to Mr. Richard Cleburne. He is the new vicar at Longmeadow.”


The young man straightened, clasped his hands behind him and bowed reverently.

“How do you do, Mr. Cleburne,” Honor said. “Welcome to Longmeadow.”

“Thank you.” He smiled.

Honor shifted her gaze to Monica. “I hope the fine weather at Longmeadow suits you?”

“I daresay everything at Longmeadow suits me.”

Honor hadn’t the slightest doubt of that.

“And Monica suits Longmeadow!” Augustine said proudly. “She’s had some wonderful notions for how to improve this room.”

Honor had already begun to back out of the room, but that remark gave her pause. “Improvements?” She looked around at the room with its floral chintz furnishings and paintings of serene landscapes. “But it doesn’t need the slightest improvement. It’s perfect as it is.”

“I thought perhaps it might be better suited as a breakfast room,” Monica said.

“She’s right,” Augustine agreed enthusiastically. “I can’t believe we’ve not thought of it ourselves.”

Honor suddenly had visions of guests trampling in and out of her favorite room in search of sausages. “This room, a breakfast room!”

“Yes, this room,” Monica said airily. “The garden is the perfect vista for breaking one’s fast, and it’s not too terribly far from the kitchen.”

“But neither is the current breakfast room, which has a lovely view of the park,” Honor pointed out.

“Yet not enough room to accommodate all,” Monica countered.

“And it’s drafty,” Augustine said, wrinkling his nose.

“Nothing that can’t be repaired,” Honor insisted. “Perhaps you and Monica might turn your attention to supper arrangements rather than worrying about this particular room.”

“We’ve already done so,” Augustine said proudly. “Monica and Mrs. Hargrove determined the seating this morning.” He smiled as if that were perfectly brilliant.

But Honor was appalled. “Where was my mother?”

“Indisposed?” Augustine said uncertainly. “My father, you know.”

“Don’t fret, Honor,” Monica said soothingly. “I personally saw to it that you will be seated next to Mr. Cleburne.” She smiled, and it was a devilish one. Mr. Cleburne’s smile, on the other hand, was uncertain.

“What a pleasure,” Honor said sweetly, nodding at the vicar. “And where will you sit, Monica? In my mother’s chair?”

“Honor!” Augustine said, glancing at his fiancée to see if she was offended.

But Monica merely laughed.

A footman stepped into the room. “My lord, Mr. Hardy asks that you come to the foyer.”

“Oh, dear, probably something to do with the horses again, do you suppose?” Augustine said to Monica, wincing. “I beg your pardon, ladies. Cleburne, what do you know of horses?” he asked.

“I am woefully uneducated, my lord.”

“Oh, you surely know more than me. Come, will you?” he asked, and walked briskly out of the room, forcing Mr. Cleburne to hurry along behind him, leaving Honor and Monica alone.

Honor frowned when they’d gone. “My mother is not yet a widow, Monica. Aren’t you a bit too eager to take over as mistress?”

“What are you implying?” Monica asked indifferently. “Lady Beckington was quite agreeable this morning when we suggested it. She scarcely seemed to care what the seating should be. She seemed more interested in planning an excursion to Scotland.” She paused. “At least I think that’s what she meant.”

How Honor managed to keep from gasping with alarm was a feat of her iron will. “Augustine should have consulted with her.”

“He did, Honor. We have all consulted with Lady Beckington, and as I said, she is quite agreeable. Perhaps she understands that I shall be mistress here one day, and that there is no point in resisting it. Perhaps you should do the same.”

Small truths like that made Honor feel defeated...almost. “I should like to think I’d not brag of it until I had stood at the altar.”

“Don’t be cross, dearest,” Monica said sweetly. “I am confident you will scarcely give this room, or the supper, or even Longmeadow another thought once you have an offer for your hand and are planning your own wedded bliss.”

Honor could feel herself bristling, which was precisely what Monica wanted. She forced herself to smile. “I beg your pardon—am I in imminent danger of receiving an offer?”

“One never knows,” Monica cheerfully avowed. “Sometimes, things have a way of happening that defy all reason, do they not? People appear in our lives so suddenly and change things about completely.”

“What are you talking about?” Honor asked, a sense of foreboding growing in her.