The Trouble With Honor (The Cabot Sisters #1)

The tic of panic grew, filling George’s throat, forcing him to swallow time and again, if only so that he might catch his breath. While Westport smiled and made small talk with his acquaintances around the table, George wagered more.

Another round, and more men had gathered to watch, exclaiming loudly and drunkenly at every card that was laid. George suddenly couldn’t keep track of the cards that had been played. He made mistakes in doing quick calculations of odds in his head. The happy future he’d allowed himself to envision began to crumble away like a pile of ashes. The sound of laughter—at him, at his misfortune—clanged in his ears. He lost sight of himself, of what he’d become.

In the end, he lost, quite literally, everything.





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

HONOR HAD GRAND plans one brilliantly sunny morning to visit some shops. If she were to be destitute, she was determined to at least be the most stylish of the destitute.

She was fitting her gloves when Hardy opened the front doors, and Mrs. Hargrove and Monica walked in. “Oh, good morning, Honor!” Mrs. Hargrove said as she removed her bonnet and handed it to Hardy as if she were the lady of the house. “And where are you off to?”

Honor stuffed her black bonnet onto her head. “To Bond Street, actually.”

She saw disapproval glance Mrs. Hargrove’s features before she walked on. Monica startled Honor by slipping her arm through hers and pulling her away from the door. “I’ve something to tell you,” she said quietly, glancing back at Hardy.

“What is it?” Honor asked indifferently.

“I mean to help you,” Monica whispered.

Honor stilled. “Help me?”

“Listen to me, Honor. I am aware that you are not particularly pleased with Mr. Cleburne’s interest, but you must agree he is a perfect match for you. And you will lose all hope for it if you do not put an end to the rumors.”

Honor’s heart leaped. Mamma. She decided instantly she would appeal to Monica’s sense of decency, to their mothers’ mutual affection all those years ago. “Please, Monica,” she said softly, mindful that the walls in this house had the hearing of an elephant. “You must see how difficult this is for me. Put yourself in my shoes.”

Monica blinked. “You yourself have tried to put me in your shoes, and without success. I will marry Augustine, Honor, and you must marry, too!” She glanced nervously at Hardy again and dragged Honor deeper into the foyer. “You know you must, so why you resist it I cannot fathom. I am warning you as a friend to be mindful of the company you keep before all hope is lost.”

Honor was set to argue, but something about Monica’s reasoning didn’t make sense. “Pardon?”

Monica rolled her eyes. “I would that you not pretend to be so innocently unaware, at least now with me. You’ve never been innocent or unaware.”

“And I would never pretend to be so, with you especially. But I have been rather occupied with my sister’s departure and my stepfather’s death, and I honestly haven’t the slightest idea what you mean or whose company I have kept.”

“For heaven’s sake! Easton, of course.”

Now Honor’s heart leaped even harder. She could feel it racing as she imagined Monica standing on the street, watching her go into Easton’s house. “What of him?” she asked as evenly as she could.

Monica blinked. She looked at Honor, wide-eyed. “You’ve really not heard?”

“Heard what, for God’s sake?”

“That he tried and failed to win an abbey.”

“A what?”

“An abbey. Montclair Abbey, to be precise. He tried to win it in a gambling game of some sort from the Duke of Westport. But he didn’t win, and moreover, rumor has it that he lost everything in the attempt.”

The news sent Honor reeling. What had happened? Why had he done something so precarious? She shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it, darling. It was witnessed by many. I would not like to see your reputation tarnished by association. And Mr. Cleburne... Well, he is above reproach. You must be mindful of that. He’s heard the rumors, and now you’d best assure him.” She smiled sympathetically and let go of Honor. “I truly am trying to help,” she said, and walked on.

Honor blinked after her.

Her plans to shop abandoned, Honor sent a note round to Easton’s house on Audley Street with Foster. When the footman returned, she was waiting anxiously for him in the foyer. “Is there a reply?”

Foster shook his head and held out the note she penned. “Mr. Easton sent it back unopened.”

Honor flushed; she snatched the note from his hand. “He did, did he?” she asked smartly, and whirled around, bounding up the steps in high dudgeon.

The following afternoon, Honor walked out the front door of her home and marched across the square, bound for Audley Street. This time she would not take the alleys and mews. She would walk straight up to his door and demand entrance. He would not refuse her.