The Trouble With Honor (The Cabot Sisters #1)

He paused and looked back. Honor was on the path to the house. In the waning light, she looked ethereally beautiful, and a small but powerful tremor of desire raced through him. “Thank you,” she said. “From the bottom of my useless heart, thank you.” She turned around and moved on, the cloak fluttering out behind her.

He had no idea why she would say such a thing. Honor Cabot had the most useful heart of anyone he’d ever known.

*

HONOR HANDED HER cloak to a footman as she walked into the foyer, soothed her hastily arranged hair and the gown she’d donned so quickly when she’d heard about her mamma.

Why Lady Beckington had become convinced that the earl had been poisoned, Honor could not begin to guess. His lordship had been sitting up in his bed, still very much alive, and yet her mother would not believe Honor or the earl.

“Take her to London at once,” the earl had ordered between painful, racking coughs. “I don’t care what you must say, Honor, but remove her from Longmeadow before the entire party is aware of her madness.”

It was happening so quickly! Like the cuff of her sleeve, Lady Beckington’s madness had been a tiny thread, perhaps ignored for too long. But once it began to unravel, it unraveled quickly.

Honor felt as if her entire life was one long unraveling now.

She moved through the crowd gathering for the final night of the soiree. There would be dancing, and supper would be served in two sets to accommodate the large number, the first seating at nine o’clock. Honor put a smile on her face and paused to speak to anyone she knew. She chatted about the fine weather, the horse races next month at Newmarket. She was the consummate actress, and as Lady Chatham prattled on about the latest attractions among the debutantes and the young gentlemen, she thought about how often she’d done this very thing, had made the rounds through crowds, talking and flirting. She’d felt as if she were rebelling, spreading her smiles to gentlemen far and wide. She’d thought herself bold.

Tonight, she felt more like a child, and longed to crawl into George’s lap and hide from the world.

She found Augustine reviewing the menu with Hardy. Naturally, Monica was there as well, and for once, she looked almost genuinely pleased to see Honor.

“There you are! We’ve been waiting for you to come down. Oh, dear, Honor, I expected to see you dressed in something expensive and glittery,” she said laughingly as she took in Honor’s rather plain gown. “You always shine so.”

“Yes, well,” Honor said, “we’ve only one lady’s maid between us, and I was rather anxious to come down.”

“These past few days have been quite grueling, have they not?” Monica asked cheerfully as Augustine opined about his preference for leek soup over onion soup to Hardy. “I never understood just how difficult it is to host such a large gathering over a weekend.”

“It’s exhausting,” Honor agreed.

“I really must commend Lady Beckington. She’s always made it appear so effortless,” Monica said. “By the by, where is your lady mother? I’ve not seen her all day. I worry for her, you know.”

Honor tensed, waiting for Monica to say more. Is your mother mad? Have you noticed that she seems a bit batty? But Monica merely looked at her, politely waiting a response.

“She is feeling fatigued,” Honor said carefully. “I think she will not come down tonight.”

“Pardon, what?” Augustine said. “Goodness, it’s you, Honor. I really must insist that you speak to Mercy about her desire to discuss mummified corpses at breakfast. It’s really very off-putting. Lady Marquette was so disturbed she was forced to take to her rooms. What’s this about our Lady Beckington?”

“She is resting,” Honor said.

Augustine looked confused. “But she’s just there, and looking rather well rested, indeed.”

Honor whirled about to see what had his attention and managed to choke down a small cry of shocked relief. There was her mother on George’s arm, laughing as she explained something to Lord Hartington that apparently involved the muddied hem of her gown, seeing as how she held it out for Hartington to have a look. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She looked quite beautiful in spite of her muddied hem.

And entirely lucid. Completely, utterly, lucid.

What had George done? How had he managed it?

“Honor, you are a dear and a perfect daughter,” Augustine said. “But she seems perfectly well.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Monica said, sounding a bit perplexed.

George and Lady Beckington made their way across the room, pausing once to share something with each other that made them both laugh.

“Lady Beckington, good evening!” Augustine said.

Honor’s mother inclined her head and smiled brightly at Augustine and Monica as she reached for Honor’s hand to squeeze it. “Good evening, all! I do beg your pardon for the state of my hem and no doubt, my hair.” She laughed. “It has been a glorious day, has it not? Prudence and I walked down to the old mill, and will you believe it, we were turned this way and that. Had it not been for Mr. Easton, we might never have found our way back,” she said cheerfully.