* * *

GEORGE EASTON WAS not only a wretched dancer, he was also a wretched actor. And he was a bloody fool if he thought Honor would believe any of what he’d said.

Well...besides the part of losing everything.

And she believed that he’d tried to win an abbey for her. An abbey! Her heart swelled with tenderness just thinking of it.

In spite of her initial shock, the walk home had given her the time to think things through, and she was actually smiling a little when she entered Beckington House as she imagined George now, pacing his study—drinking brandy, no doubt—working to convince himself that he’d somehow done a noble thing in setting her free.

She was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice Mr. Cleburne in the foyer.

“Miss Cabot!” he said loudly.

“Oh! Mr. Cleburne!” She dropped her umbrella in the stand. “I didn’t see you there.”

“I am so glad to have happened on you. I am to Longmeadow in the morning.”

“Oh, is it—so soon?” Honor asked, trying to recall their conversation.

“So soon,” he said, smiling. “If I may impose... If you would be so kind, I should like a private word with you.”

Honor froze; she wasn’t ready to hear his offer, wasn’t ready with her response to him.

“If I may,” he reiterated.

“Ah...well, I am rather soaked through,” she said, gesturing to herself.

“Perhaps if you remove your cloak.”

He had her there. She slowly removed the cloak, revealing a dry gown underneath. She smiled a little as he put out his hand for her cloak and hung it on a rack. And then he gestured to the hallway that would take them to the small receiving room, where Honor had first attempted to instruct George in the art of seducing Monica.

In the receiving room, Mr. Cleburne indicated she should take a seat, but he remained standing, his hands at his back, his head lowered. He looked almost as if he were offering up a prayer until he lifted his head and said, “Miss Cabot, I should very much like to express my good opinion of you—”

“Oh, Mr. Cleburne,” Honor said, and quickly stood, turning at first toward the bookshelves and then toward the hearth, half walking, half stumbling there, her hands clutched at her abdomen.

“Please, hear me,” Mr. Cleburne said. “It is no secret to you that your family desires a match—”

She steadied herself with a hand to the mantel, her thoughts racing around what exactly she would say.

“But I cannot, in good conscience, extend an offer for your hand in marriage.”

“Oh, Mr. Cleburne, I do so appreciate...” Honor paused as his words sunk in. She raised her head and looked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Please, don’t be cross,” he said quickly.

“Cross!”

“I’ve had time to reflect,” he rushed, “and I have come to the conclusion that we are not suited to one another.”

Honor had not once imagined that Mr. Cleburne would not want to offer for her.

“I do not mean to...to hurt you,” he said, clearly looking for the right word, “but I cannot help but think that it would be a grave mistake.”

Honor was so surprised, so relieved, that a burst of mad laughter escaped her. She instantly clamped a hand over her mouth.

Mr. Cleburne smiled. “I had rather hoped you might feel the same.”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Cleburne. I am certain you will make a fine husband—”

“And you a fine wife—”

“But you are right, we are not suited.”

He laughed again, with great relief. “I felt certain you were not in favor of the match, but then again, Sommerfield has been rather insistent.”

“Augustine? Or Miss Hargrove?” Honor asked with a bit of a smile.

“Lord Sommerfield. I understand that Miss Hargrove’s family is rather keen to see you all properly matched and wed, but your stepbrother is fond of you. He has in mind that you suffered heartbreak in the hands of Lord Rowley and had lost your confidence along the way.”

Honor blinked. That was rather astute of Augustine. “It’s true,” she admitted. “I did suffer, but it was my doing. And...I seem to have found my confidence again.” She put a hand to her heart and laughed with relief. “You can’t imagine how I’ve dreaded this moment—”

“So have I,” he said. He looked at his hands. “I have particular esteem for a young woman in my church.”

“Oh,” Honor said, smiling.

He grinned and shrugged. “However, when one’s benefactor suggests a match, one does not ignore it.”

“Yes,” Honor said, smiling. “I understand completely.”

He smiled. “What of you, Miss Cabot? Is there anyone in particular?”

She thought of Easton today, his expression haggard, the dark circles under his eyes. “There is,” she admitted sheepishly. “But I am waiting for him to realize it.” How different her feelings for George were compared to what she’d had for Rowley. Her feelings now were so much deeper, so much more complex. She believed Easton’s feelings for her ran just as deep, if only he could find the courage to admit it!

Mr. Cleburne laughed. “I am certain he will come around.”

“What do you think, Mr. Cleburne? Would you give up this,” she said, gesturing to the opulent room they stood in, “for love?”

“This?” he asked, looking around them. “What do you mean, the brick and mortar?”

What, indeed. Honor smiled. “Something like that.”

“You are a handsome woman with a fine heart, Miss Cabot. My best wishes for a happy future. Shall we go and explain our decision to your brother?”

“I think we ought,” she said, and took the hand he offered her.

* * *

THE PERSON WHO took Honor’s news the hardest was not Augustine, as Monica might have guessed, given how hard he’d worked to convince the vicar that Honor was the perfect match for him. It was her mother. She cried out at the news, then paced about the small parlor where Monica sat and her brothers watched, muttering all the things she found objectionable about Honor Cabot.

The list was longer than Monica had realized.

As for Monica, the fight had gone out of her. She was happy with Augustine, secure in their affection for one another. She’d come to realize that she didn’t really mind if the Cabot sisters were about. “It’s really not such a bad thing,” Monica said in an effort to soothe her mother. “Someone will offer for her.”

“Not before she’s spent her stepbrother’s inheritance! And honestly, Monica, I think you don’t realize how difficult it will be to find four husbands with a mad mother.”

“Mamma!” Monica exclaimed and looked nervously at her brothers, who were not generally praised for their ability to keep secrets.

“Well?” her mother angrily demanded. “There’s something quite wrong with her. It’s very obvious. No one will want to introduce the possibility of madness into their family, will they? You’ll be shackled with the lot of them all of your days.”

Monica quit the parlor that afternoon feeling slightly ill.

That feeling did not go away in the next two days when she heard her brother and mother plotting to save the Beckington fortune. How had she been so blind to them? How had she not understood that their enthusiastic support of her match with Augustine had nothing to do with her happiness, but the Beckington fortune?

Honor had been right to suspect her. Monica had believed her mother wanted what was best for her, but what she wanted was connection and money, just like everyone else in London. At least Honor wanted something pure. Honor wanted love. What else might explain her esteem for Easton?

That was why, then, when Monica heard from Augustine the very next day that Easton was desperately gambling every night, trying to piece together the fortune he’d lost, she told Honor. Only this time, she didn’t tell Honor about it to warn her away from Easton. She really hoped Honor would find some way to help him.

As it happened, Monica rather admired the charming George Easton.



CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

HONOR INSTANTLY SUSPECTED trickery when Monica came to her at Lady Barclay’s tea with the news of George’s desperate gambling. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, eyeing her shrewdly.

Monica shrugged. “I thought you’d want to know.”

There was nothing in Monica’s expression or demeanor to suggest otherwise. But then again, Honor didn’t understand Monica any longer. It was as if her old friend had changed overnight. She’d become gentler, more accepting of Honor and her sisters. And especially of her mother.

“What am I to do?” Honor asked, frustrated by the news.

“I don’t know,” Monica said. “But if anyone would know, I believe it would be you.” She smiled and walked away to join her friends.

Honor could only wonder at Monica’s motives, but later, at the same tea, she overheard Lady Vickers speaking about Easton. Laughing at him, actually. It seemed that Lord Vickers had frequented the gaming hell in Southwark and had witnessed George being turned away from tables as no one believed he could honor his bets any longer.

“That’s not true,” said Lady Stillings. “He certainly divested my hapless husband of a large sum.” The ladies tittered.

For days afterward, Honor could think of little else. After one long sleepless night, she awoke to the answer of how to make Easton admit the truth and stop losing all that he had. He was a gambler; he would never freely offer something so personal as she had offered herself and her love. She also knew him well enough to know that he had to prove to himself that he deserved happiness.

Once Honor realized it, she knew precisely what she had to do. It was an enormous risk, one that could truly ruin her forevermore. But Honor had never shied from risk, and if she was right, she would win her happiness. If she was wrong, well... She’d just as soon be put away in St. Asaph with her mother. She’d be no use to society or anything else. She wouldn’t care what happened to her after that.

That night, she dressed in the peacock-blue gown she’d worn with the bonnet Monica had commissioned. She summoned Prudence to her room to fasten the buttons.

“Where are you going?” Prudence said. “You’re not allowed to wear something so colorful, are you? Only black.”

“I think the earl would approve,” Honor said.

Prudence stepped back. “But...where are you going?” she asked again, her voice low and serious.

Honor smiled at her sister. “You were right, Pru.”

“Pardon? When?”

“When you said I should marry for love.”

Prudence gasped. “Are you eloping?”

“No. But I am going to offer for Mr. Easton’s hand.”

Prudence’s mouth dropped open. She looked so shocked that Honor couldn’t help but laugh. “Wish me luck, darling. If he refuses, I doubt I will ever have another offer. I certainly won’t want one.”

Prudence folded her arms and studied Honor a long moment. “He couldn’t possibly refuse,” she said solemnly. “And if he does, you’d not like to be married to him because he is a wretched fool.”

Honor smiled gratefully at her sister and embraced her. “Thank you. I am in need of all encouragement, for my knees are shaking, and my stomach is quite in knots.”

“Shall I come with you?” Prudence asked.

Honor shook her head. “I would not want you anywhere near what I will do this evening.”

On her way out, Honor stopped in to see her mother. Lady Beckington smiled with pleasure at the sight of Honor. “Oh, my,” she said, nodding approvingly. “How lovely you look, my love.”

“Thank you, Mamma!” Honor said, pleased that this was a lucid moment. She walked to her mother’s side and crouched down beside her. “Mamma, I would like you to know that I intend to marry for love.”

“Do you?” her mother asked, and stroked Honor’s hair. “Very good, for anything less than that is a waste of some very good years.”

Surprised, Honor blinked at her mother.

Her mother smiled. “Don’t look so astonished. I married for love once.” She glanced back at Hannah and said, “Didn’t I, Mother?”

Hannah smiled. “Indeed, you did.”

“Thank you, Mamma.” As far as Honor was concerned, she had her mother’s blessing, as much as she was able to give it.

Jonas looked at her askance when Honor told him she was to Southwark, but Honor ignored him and settled back against the squabs and clutched her reticule tightly, her belly churning with nerves. She kept drawing deep breaths in a futile effort to soothe her racing heart. Her entire life had been building to this night. She hoped that she would remember everything she’d been taught, that she could find the courage to reach with both hands for the one thing she wanted—to love a man with all her heart and be loved by him, no matter what.