An Inevitable Conclusion
Even
the mildest critic could find fault with Lady Honoria Irving's appearance.
Rather than soft and feminine, everything about her was sharp and thin. Her
mother Lady Millbrook was forever pressing her to eat more because her figure
was far from what one would call comfortable. Her dark eyes could look
piercingly out of her thin and angular face, usually making her expression
forbidding. She was thin, but far from frail and she moved with alacrity. Her
mind was sharp and her words were rarely delivered in a sweet tone.
She
did not much care what other people thought, for she was a healthy and clever
girl and she enjoyed herself at assemblies and balls quite as much as the next
girl. She had that easy way of talking to young men that did not recommend her
much to other girls, but she did not care, for the ones who were most jealous
were also the most unworthy of her friendship.
That
she was setting her cap at one or more of the young men was untrue, despite the
gossip. Frequently being in the young men's company had taught Lady Honoria
that they were good fun, but several years behind her in their development. She
would never consider to marry such a childish boy, and if she must, not within
the next few years.
She
had been thinking that for a while, but as the years passed, the young men
turned out to be in no hurry whatsoever to grow up. The composition of the
group changed -- some married silly girls and were forever lost, and some new
ones joined, but they were invariably childish. The acquaintance was good for
assemblies, but not for anything else.
"I
wish you would not always hang about with those young men, Nolly," her
mother complained. "What will people think of you if you speak to so many
men at assemblies?" People sometimes asked her, directly or indirectly,
what Honoria's purpose was.
"People
see what I do. Whatever they choose to think is something I cannot
influence," Honoria replied with a shrug. They thought what they liked,
even if there was nothing to be seen.
"A
well-bred girl does not conduct herself with such..." Lady Millbrook
searched for a good word that was not too harsh. "... masculinity."
"I
only speak to them and I do it in plain sight. Perhaps I should be as feminine
as Mary Cartwright, who pretended to have a fainting spell and who let Hugo
take her out on the terrace where she kissed him?"
Lady
Millbrook gasped.
"It
is true. We looked," said Honoria, revelling in the shock she was
inflicting upon her mother. "At least you may be sure that if I am out
with a young man, I shall not be kissed, but we shall likely be catching a frog
to deposit in one of Lady Inglewood's feathery hats. They always let me catch
the frogs, Mama! Do you think I would condescend to kiss such a man?
Really?" No, it took a little more courage and indeed masculinity to
impress her.
There
were days that Lady Millbrook truly despaired of her eldest daughter's chances
on the marriage market. A little more flesh on her bones would improve her
appearance greatly, although a miracle would have to happen for her to have a
soft, womanly figure. This could all be rendered unimportant if the girl was at
least sweet-tempered and modest in company, but she was none of that either.
Her
mother was aware of Honoria's good qualities, but they were relatively
unimportant to an unmarried girl. Which young man was looking for a wife who
could catch frogs? Her father being Lord Millbrook, she might stand a chance of
receiving an offer some day, but she had already announced that she would not
accept it if she was asked for such a reason. Lady Millbrook feared her
daughter would only accept a man who dared to catch his own frogs.
"What
are we to do? Maria cannot marry before you and yet she has a suitor."
"If
he is nothing but that, a suitor, she had best not marry him," was
Honoria's opinion. "But Maria should not wait for me. I have no plans for
the immediate future, but Maria is getting on in age as well. Twenty-four! She
should be married as soon as possible if the suitor is suitable. But which
suitor is not, if a lady is already twenty-four?"
"But
what about you?"
"Maria's
suitor was promising, but not more than that, so I am happy he fixed on
Maria." A smile lit up Honoria's face and softened it. "I do try to
please you sometimes, Mama."
"If
you remain so particular you will be on the shelf," her mother scolded. If
the girl smiled more she might not even have to gain more weight, but she ought
to be less particular about whom she treated to her smiles.
"Then
I will always be there to take care of you, Mama, and I will spend my days
schooling little nieces and nephews in the art of mischief."
Lady
Millbrook shook her head. The girl was impossible.
"Lady
Inglewood's nephew is visiting her," Lady Millbrook announced at
breakfast. She had received a short note informing her of that. "She
invites us to come to dinner for the young fellow's amusement."
"Is
he looking for a wife then?" Honoria inquired. She could not imagine any
other reason why he needed to be subjected to the company of four girls of
marriageable age. In order not to bewilder people, they at least left the
younger ones at home, but that still left four of them.
"Honoria!"
Lord Millbrook reprimanded her.
"But
Papa, why else would anyone invite an Earl with far too many daughters? If we
are invited, the table is full!" There were some snickers among her
younger sisters, but they never dared to be as bold. Their appreciation gave
her some more courage. "Is Lady Inglewood's nephew worthy of us?"
"He
is a Viscount," said Lady Millbrook, as if that made it all right. She had
once married a Viscount herself.
"Not
worthy then!" Honoria said, glancing at her brother across the table, only
barely managing to keep her tongue in. Her father might forbid her to come to
Lady Inglewood's dinner party if he caught her engaging in childish behaviour
at breakfast. She did not know whether he could actually carry out such a
threat, but she did not care to put him to the test.
"I
shall judge his worth," her brother said pompously, for he was already
twenty-one and capable of judging characters.
"Of
course he will seek refuge in your company if he is sensible."
"Nolly,
will you stay away from him?" her mother asked, fearing that her eldest
daughter was planning something less sensible.
Honoria
was heartily amused. "We are invited with the sole purpose of exposing him
to marriageable young ladies in the neighbourhood and we are visiting because
he is a Viscount and then you tell your eldest and unmarried daughter to stay
away from him!"
She
cast her eyes up to heaven. "You know exactly what I mean, Honoria."
"I
do, I do. I will stay away from him. If he seeks me out, though, what do I
do?" A mocking smile played around her lips. She did not think she would
be the sister he singled out. The younger ones, with their cheeks that dimpled
and their gracefully rounded figures, were usually more of an attraction. Men
were silly like that.
"You
behave appropriately. It is a wonder that Lady Inglewood still invites us after
the frog incident."
"But
you know we are invited because of our names and not because of our characters.
An Earl and his family can get away with anything, Mama."
"We
must be an example," Lady Millbrook chided. She had six daughters to marry
off, but she had not been good at it so far.
Whenever
Lady Honoria was resolved to be exemplary, she failed and so she had given up
on such resolutions. She sat in one of the two carriages with her hands folded,
silently contemplating their outing, but it only made her chuckle when she
thought of how pious she must be looking.
She
wondered if Lady Inglewood's nephew had any clue about his aunt's idea that he
would be a perfect candidate for an Irving girl. Not many young men would
object to dining in the company of so many girls, yet some might feel rather
awkward about the obvious plans that were made for him.
Maria,
who already had a suitor, was disposed to feel bored by engagements that did
not bring her into his company. "Will there be other people, Papa?"
Lord
Millbrook could safely answer that he did not know. He was reluctant to repeat
Honoria's opinion that the table would be full if they all came, for it would
feel like condoning her impertinence. Being the eldest child had given her the
right to be impertinent, she probably thought, and he did not control her as
much as she ought to because she had a habit of coming up with sensible
remarks.
"Are
there any other people in the neighbourhood who are worthy of one of Lady
Inglewood's nephews?" Honoria asked. "Did you know they are all Viscounts?"
She had never known it was possible for someone to have only similarly titled
nephews.
"Is
that possible?" asked Maria doubtfully.
Honoria
did not think so. "They are the only ones who deserve a mention..."
"You
must not be so derogatory about a valuable neighbour," said Lord
Millbrook. But as usual, Honoria's assessment was probably correct. He sighed
and wished he knew what to do about such comments. "May I ask you not to
quiz Lady Inglewood about any possible other nephews who are untitled,
Nolly?"
"Bah,"
said Honoria, who had just conceived of exactly such a plan. "But since
you ask so nicely, Papa, I will not."
Viscount Button
Lady
Inglewood's nephew was called Lord Button and he was rather pleasant, but on
account of his name Honoria had decided to stay as far away from him as
possible. She had sat with her father and brother all the time, thinking she
was being very good. She would surely be tempted to giggle or mention buttons
if she spoke to the man.
"You
shunned Lord Button!" said Lady Millbrook, however, when they arrived back
home. "You, my eldest child, left him to speak with your younger
sisters!"
The
criticism took Honoria by surprise. She had never considered that she might be
shunning him. She had thought she was being exceptionally good by not referring
to his name and not speaking to him at all. Her look of surprise was quickly
replaced with one of rebellion. What else could be done against unjust
accusations? "It is very likely that he would prefer them anyway and if
they wish to become Lady Button --" she spoke the name mockingly, "--
they have my blessing."
Her
sisters were quite taken with Lord Button, but if he never returned to his
aunt, nothing would occur. They had only met him once and one meeting was not
enough to accomplish anything. Honoria listened to them in silence, still
smarting from her mother's words. She followed in apprehension when her father
beckoned her into his study, assuming she was to receive a more severe
set-down. "Please, Papa," she began before he could speak. "I
know I can never do right. Will you not start as well?"
He
offered her a glass of brandy, a special favour not even bestowed yet on his
son. He had done this a few times before and his daughter had courteously
attempted to drink it each time, but she still did not like it. The liquid
always made her grimace. She knew, however, that drinking with her father was
an indication of being a confidante and therefore she always accepted the
glass. It was very nice sitting here just holding it, too.
"Nolly,"
he said with a sigh and then stared at a painting. After a few moments he spoke
again. "I thought your behaviour was rather exemplary tonight." It
could have been worse. While not flighty, Honoria could indulge too much in
amusements of her own.
"Thank
you, Papa," she said softly.
"Your
mother despairs of you."
"Of
my chances," she protested. Her mother and she got along very well when it
came to everything else and even the subject of marriage had not yet caused any
feelings of frustration on either side, she thought.
"Quite
right, of your chances. I must say I do not despair of your chances in the same
manner, but I do sometimes despair of your tendency to rebel against
despair." He looked at her meaningfully. It was too much to expect that
Honoria would converse politely with a promising young man. She would either
have fun at his expense or not speak to him at all, only because of the
pressure and the expectations.
She
frowned. "You do not despair of my chances?" That was new to her and
oddly uplifting. Sometimes even she wondered if she was unsuited to courtships.
Lord
Millbrook shook his head. "But it is inconvenient that you have younger
sisters who are expected to wait until you have made your choice. May I know
your opinion on being married? Not the house, not the children, but the
man?"
"My
opinion?" Honoria took a sip of the brandy in shock and she grimaced.
"Well...I find most young men uncommonly ... unmarriageable."
"And
old men?"
She
looked horrified. "No! Unless they are widowers, one wonders. Papa, I hope
you do not have someone in mind."
"No,
I am merely trying to determine where your preferences lie."
"That
is academic if nobody's preferences lie with me." She took another sip of
the brandy so she could contort her face. "I am one of the boys. Even you
think so."
"Tsk,"
said her father. He could not defend himself well on that score, for he often
treated his eldest child as if she were his eldest son. "I do not mean to
turn you into a boy, Honoria. I believe one is perfectly capable of involving
one's daughter in one's business without her reneging anything. I believe this
prepares you much better for when you have a house of your own and undoubtedly
someone will think this a valuable quality." He did too.
"But
I really do not want someone too stupid to run his own affairs."
He
suppressed a smile. "Of course not."
Viscount Fernham
It
was not long before Lady Inglewood had another nephew to stay with her. Despite
her father's warning, Honoria had already wriggled out of Her Ladyship how many
nephews there were and for the benefit of herself and her sisters, she had
drawn a family tree.
"This
one," she lectured in the privacy of her bedroom, where the girls were
wont to assemble if they had secrets to discuss, "is Lord Fernham, the son
of her sister Claire. Lord Button was the son of Lord Inglewood's sister
Evelina. One of the next visits -- on which I am counting -- might be from Lord
Fernley -- do not confuse him with Fernham -- the son of her sister Cecily. Or
it might be from Lord Brisselford, the son of Lord Inglewood's sister Mary. Or
even from one of the untitled sons, of which there are several as well. All of
our Viscounts have at least one brother."
"How
do you know they are all coming?" wondered her sister Sarah.
"I
do not, but I know Lady Inglewood will invite them all. Such is her
ambition." Lady Inglewood was not subtle enough about her plans. She was
apparently quite keen on connecting at least one of her nephews to the Irvings.
"They might not all come, but she will certainly try. Perhaps one of them
is already engaged without her knowledge."
Honoria
supposed it was bad luck for her sisters that she was not the prettiest, so
that none of these young men would choose her first. Her sisters would be
thrilled to have suitors, but they really could not do much about them until
she was married. It was customary for the eldest to be taken care of first,
unless she were absolutely hopeless.
Her
father said she was not, though, and Lady Inglewood's scheme had caused her to
reflect on the matter with a less dismissive attitude than before. She was
already twenty-six, after all, and she would do well to take up a well-founded
position on the subject.
On
the other hand, a too fixed perspective was blinding. She might yet be
surprised, by herself or by one of the nephews, or even someone completely
different.
The
next nephew was indeed Lord Fernham. After her mother's censure of the previous
time, Honoria made sure not to avoid Lord Fernham. She did not give him any
more consideration than he deserved, however, although she conversed with him
normally. Maria, Sarah and Valeria liked him better than Lord Button, she could
tell, although she thought the latter was decidedly his superior in
understanding. She had to explain herself a few times and although she had
barely spoken to Lord Button, he had seemed to have a quicker mind.
Lord
Fernham was a handsome young man, though, in his early twenties and he needed
no strong understanding to be pleasant. Honoria's opinion of her sisters'
cleverness was influenced by both her attachment to them and by their ages, so
she had some trouble deciding whether Lord Fernham was worthy of one of them.
If he
never came back, that problem would solve itself. Undoubtedly Lady Inglewood
meant to carry on with her nephew scheme and they might soon be presented to
the next one. Perhaps Lord Fernham would be quite a catch compared to what was
yet to come, or he would be instantly forgotten.
It
was odd how both nephews had not stayed long enough to be invited back. A
return visit would have helped matters along, but Lady Inglewood seemed to have
other plans. Perhaps the young men themselves had not seen any ladies worth
pursuing -- although both of them had appeared to be amusing themselves very
well.
Viscount Fernley
Lord
Fernley, the third nephew, unfortunately came at a time when Honoria was too
unwell to accompany her family to the dinner party. She had to rely on her
sisters' reports of the evening, but those were not favourable. They had never
before excelled in character sketches, but there was always the hope they might
succeed this time and tell her something more important and useful than their
opinion of the nephew's appearance and fashion sense.
"He
was a great favourite with Papa," Valeria commented in dissatisfaction.
"They talked and talked and he barely gave us a glance."
"Lady
Inglewood must have been quite put out," Honoria croaked in her hoarse
voice. She would laugh heartily if her cold did not prevent it. Here was the
third nephew and he shunned the girls! It was too ironic.
"He
was not at all handsome," said Maria. "I wonder at Lady Inglewood's
nerve in exposing us to him."
"What
did Vic think?" Honoria asked. Surely Victor, who would not have chosen to
sit with his sisters if he had had the choice, must have been privy to the
gentlemen's conversation. He would be able to give her an impression.
"Vic
spoke with them, but he does not know we analyse the fellows in secret. He
would mock us if he knew and then tell all his friends. You know how discreet
he is! He thinks it great fun to be indiscreet. Besides, Vic does not know
what we like in gentlemen," Maria said with some contempt. "He cannot
imagine any better fellows than those stupid friends of his."
Some
of those were actually also acquaintances of Honoria's, although she would say
she had them first, especially the older ones. She chose not to answer on the
subject of their stupidity, for how would it reflect on her if she admitted
that some were indeed occasionally stupid?
"Victor!"
Honoria called hoarsely when she was able to leave her room again. "What
was this Viscount like? I heard he spoke too much with Papa to be
likeable."
Victor,
straightening his coat unconsciously because he felt proud that his opinion was
solicited by his eldest sister, looked studiously reflective. "Well ... he
did indeed speak with Papa a great deal."
Honoria
suppressed her impatience. "Was the conversation sensible?"
"No,
it was boring."
"To
some that is the same thing!"
"I
suppose it was sensible then," he relented, not wanting to be thought of
as someone who could not recognise sensible conversation. He was already
twenty-one, after all, and despite Honoria's opinion he was no longer a child.
"The girls did not think too much of him, but he did not think too much of
the girls either. I told him he was third Viscount sprung upon us in the space
of a month, so that quite frankly I was beginning to be bored of my
sisters."
Honoria
pressed her hand to her mouth. "Vic!" Maria's comment about his
indiscretion had been right on the mark.
"I
told him he was lucky because you were ill and you were the worst when it came
to discussing them afterwards, so that he was lucky to escape your
censure."
"Vic!
I never censure them!" Well, at least she did not dismiss people
indifferently because they were not handsome.
"You
do not praise," he said accusingly. "You are always severe on young
men."
"I
cannot believe you told him that! I cannot believe you spoke ill of your own
sisters in such a manner!" She was appalled. He was such a child.
"I
do not think he minded. He said it was very natural of ladies to discuss
others. Lady Inglewood had discussed all of you with him beforehand."
"That
Lady Inglewood!" she exclaimed, starting to cough in her agitation.
"What did she tell him?"
Victor
shrugged. "He did not tell me, but I suppose she sang everybody's
praises."
"How
could she sing mine?" Honoria wondered. "After the incident with the
frog?"
Viscount Brisselford
Lord
Brisselford, the fourth nephew, was the handsomest and most charming of them
all, if that was at all possible. Lord Millbrook regarded him most warily and
even Lady Inglewood herself seemed a little surprised at how charming this
nephew could be when there were young ladies to entertain.
Honoria
thought he was delightful -- because he thought so himself. He had just
returned from his Grand Tour and he had much to relate. Honoria forgave him for
the few factual errors she caught -- it must indeed be difficult to remember
which sight belonged to which city after one had seen so much in so short a
time.
Maria
was almost ready to forget her suitor, whose tastes could not compare to Lord
Brisselford's and whose mind was significantly less informed. Sarah and Valeria
were hanging on to his every word as well and even Victor felt like asking his
father when he might be sent on such a Grand Tour to experience the wonders of
the world. Honoria thought that Lady Inglewood had much luck in her nephews, but
it was not enough luck to persuade her to admire him to the same extent.
Lady
Millbrook liked him well enough to hope that he would return some day to pay
his addresses to one of her daughters. All of the Viscounts had been good
catches, to be sure, but she preferred one who could tell amusing anecdotes.
Lord
Millbrook was uncertain about the anecdotes about the beauties of Venice and he
was even more uncertain about his eldest daughter having the same opinion.
"What do you know of Venice?" he inquired because he had perceived a
certain twist around her mouth.
"He
mixed up his landmarks. One wonders," she said tactfully. "As a
sheltered girl." She ought to be the last one to catch such mistakes, not
the first.
"It
would do you good not to wonder."
"Do
not worry; I have already taken his measure. I will depend on books rather than
on tales, as I have always been doing."
"He
was so handsome!" sighed Valeria when they had arrived home. "I
declare he was the handsomest man I ever saw! Tell me you do not like him,
Nolly."
"Why
should I tell you that?"
"You
have first rights."
"You
can have him," Honoria said generously. She was usually generous, but in
the case of this man even more so. "I will reserve my first rights for
someone else."
"But
... why do you not like him?" Valeria would like to have her sister's
approval nonetheless. She trusted Honoria's judgement more than her own.
Because
he did not appear to have reserved his first rights for her, but she refrained
from saying so. It would be pure speculation. "I may not be beautiful
enough. He has a taste for beauty and excellence -- as well as admiration. You
correspond more to that image than I do."
Valeria,
with her youthful beauty and her well-formed figure was easily the most
attractive of them all, and her innocence made her apt to admire any handsome
gentleman that crossed her path, assuming he was as good as he was handsome.
Honoria knew it could not be so. He might be a nice boy, she thought, but
perhaps not very resistant to temptation. He might never be or he might be
cured, but if there was someone who did not have to learn, she would prefer
him.
Valeria
looked a little puzzled. "But if you undervalue yourself you will never be
married."
"Very
well. I shall overvalue myself and say I am too good for him."
Valeria
stared. Too good for Lord Brisselford! "Do not tease me so!"
"He
is a paragon, to be sure, but you know I am too undisciplined to be a paragon's
wife. Besides, I am twenty-six and I have never seen any of Lady Inglewood's
nephews before. It is not for my sake that they are suddenly brought forward.
If I had been such an attractive catch they would have been introduced to me
years ago." She could be hurt by this observation, but she was not. She
told herself to watch out for any such feeling, however. It crept up on one
stealthily. She had seen too much to be jealous of people's looks alone. There
was so much else that mattered. Besides, she was merely thin and not
malformed.
"I
suppose so," Valeria said reluctantly. "But I still think you should
not undervalue yourself. Mama always says you would be quite pretty if you were
not so thin."
"Nothing
like a few children to put some flesh on those bones," Honoria declared
with a smile, happy to hear her own opinion reinforced. "I shall trust
Mama's prediction."
At
the same time she knew that while each of her sisters had narrowed her choice
down from four Viscounts to two at the very most, assisted by the interest the
various gentlemen had displayed, not one had seemed to have a preference for
her. Whatever her mother had predicted, it was not very relevant yet.
A few
weeks passed during which Lady Inglewood was seemingly too busy to invite any
nephews. Honoria, who had half expected to be introduced to the untitled ones
now, realised some of those were probably too young, as younger brothers. She
went about her business as usual without lamenting this loss and took up her
habitual position at the next assembly, surrounding herself with a few
youngsters.
"We
heard," said one of the young fellows, "that your family were
introduced to some of Lady Inglewood's nephews. How did your sisters like
them?"
Honoria
thought this was a typical question. Her own opinion did not matter much; the
local young men were more interested in hearing whether her sisters' hearts had
been captured. She was too familiar to be pursued, but in this case that only
amused her. "They were precisely what one would expect Lady Inglewood's
nephews to be like," she said to vex him.
"Dashing
gentlemen who have been about the town?" he asked, sounding as hopeless as
a young man would who did not consider himself very dashing.
"They
are more refined than, let us say, Hugo," she said, referring to the young
man who came closest to being a local rake and who was always eager for a
dance.
"So
they were well-liked?" His hopes were well and truly sunk.
"I
only met three of them, but yes, those were well-liked. Cheer yourself,
William!" she said, taking pity on him for his dejected face. "They
will likely never come back. I had not seen them in the past twenty-six years
and I might not see them in the next twenty-six years. Which one of my sisters
do you like?"
"I
heard differently," William said, evading the question. "Lady
Inglewood is bringing all of them tonight."
"Such
an infusion of eligible young men as we shall never recover from! Where did you
hear this?" It was splendid news for her sisters and even she might take
some time to compare their virtues -- all for her sisters' sakes, naturally. There
was something very amusing about Lady Inglewood's bringing them all at once.
"At
our dinner party two days ago, where she brought all of them as well."
It
was odd that Lady Inglewood had taken them first to the Kirbys, who were in
fact nobodies and who did not have any eligible daughters, but perhaps the
Kirbys had not met them the first time they were here. It did not signify much.
The present mattered more and in the present she would be expected to take her
pick. "Bah. I hope someone told them I do not dance."
"But
you do." William looked confused. "And Lady Inglewood only called you
unsuitable. She did not say whether you danced."
"I
hope Lady Inglewood at least specified why I am not suitable," Honoria
commented, her eyes sparkling. "Was it the frog?"
"No,
it was your association with us."
That
made her snort. There was nothing more harmless than an association that had
lasted for over twenty years. It was not the most proper circle of friends for
a young lady to belong to, but it was amusing. What else was one supposed to do
at assemblies and balls? "You are not up for catching another frog
then?"
William
nudged another young man, who turned around. "Show her, Robert."
"How
do you like this piece of fur on a string?" Robert asked in a low voice,
showing Honoria something that he dropped behind her so it was hidden by her
skirts.
She
almost clapped her hands when she saw it looked just like a small animal.
"I take it you can make it move?"
"Naturally!"
He pulled the string to show her. From a distance it would look as if it
scurried across the floor and it would certainly frighten half the ladies
present.
Honoria
could not wait for their reaction. "When, when, when?"
"Not
yet; we must wait for a good opportunity. Not when the room is buzzing. We must
wait for a duller moment, so that as many people as possible will see."
The
eldest of the Irving girls did not draw any eyes to herself among the dancing
couples. She stayed in her corner, dressed in an unremarkable brown gown that
made her mother cringe at its simplicity, and spoke to her friends, who tonight
were all males in their twenties. She did not have much patience for female
conversation at a ball, which was either gossip or a lengthy analysis of
people's clothes, but which invariably settled on queries about gentlemen.
People could never imagine that she had other interests and that her world did
not revolve around getting married.
Lady
Inglewood and her nephews had arrived at some point, she supposed, but she had
not paid attention. It was not until she saw Lady Inglewood sitting with her
mother that this thought occurred to her. She looked around for the nephews,
curious to see if any of her sisters were being sought out, but she did not
immediately see any of them.
It
was rather negligent of her that she had not been paying attention. Her mother
would be able to say many things about that. Perhaps a good lady of six and
twenty ought to remedy the oversight instantly. But how? She could hardly walk
up to Lady Inglewood and ask to be presented to all of the nephews in turn,
especially not after she had been the least interested sister, yet if she
failed to show any interest in them at all, she would be accused of being a
proud spinster. People so easily fancied themselves shunned.
Perhaps
she could walk across the room and give polite acknowledgements here and there
to whom she might encounter. This course of action included the danger that the
locals might stare, for they were not used to such regal condescension from
Lady Honoria, who would undoubtedly be accused of putting on airs to impress
Lady Inglewood's nephews.
There
was no escaping everyone's expectations and censure, whatever she did.
She
walked around and first passed Lord Button, who apparently remembered her, for
he bowed most politely. To shun him again by giving him no attention whatsoever
was unthinkable. She was forced to exchange some social niceties. This was not
very painful, as he was a pleasant man.
She
would like to ask him about his aunt's sudden fondness for her nephews, but she
thought she had best not. "Did you like the neighbourhood enough to
return?" she asked instead.
"My
aunt invited me again," Lord Button answered. Quite according to the
expectation, he would never mention the neighbourhood and the ladies therein.
"Ah!
I see. You had to and you had nothing better to do."
"If
my cousin was here as well, it could not be very tedious, I thought, and two
other relatives are here too." The company of three other young men must
needs make any aunt's house an agreeable place to stay.
"Which
had you met before?" Considering that Lady Inglewood was the connecting
factor and Honoria had never seen the nephews there before, she could not
imagine they were all previously acquainted.
"Only
my cousin."
Honoria
thought of the family tree she had drawn and of which she should perhaps not
reveal too intimate a knowledge. Nevertheless, lucky guesses were allowed.
"Lord Brisselford?"
"The
very one."
It
would not do to ask about that young man's character, regardless of whether she
would receive a truthful or dependable reply. Lord Button asked her to dance,
presumably because he misinterpreted her glance at the dancefloor, which had
solely had the intention to locate Lord Brisselford.
She
was fairly certain she was going to be turned out of the house if she did not
dance with Lord Button, although she would prefer being turned out of the house
over becoming Lady Button. This consideration shot through her mind in the
instant before she answered. She accepted.
Eventually
she spotted Maria dancing with her suitor of old and Sarah was dancing with an
officer. That left Valeria and she had to be on the other side of the room
somewhere, but try as she might while dancing, she could see neither Valeria
nor Lord Brisselford. She did not see Lord Fernham either, but he was not the
nephew Valeria liked best. This gave him leave to be as absent as he liked.
After the beauties of Venice Lord Brisselford was more dangerous.
Her
sister's absence was slightly alarming and she walked over to her mother after
the dance, declining Lord Button's polite offer of a refreshment and leaving
him with the suggestion of approaching Maria or Sarah.
She
gave Lady Inglewood a brief curtsey and a greeting and then began. "Mama,
where is Valeria?"
"Valeria?"
"My
sister. I do not see her." It occurred to her that it was significant that
she had not been concentrating on Lord Button if she had been trying to look
for her sisters. It had not been a dance that allowed for any conversation and
all she could have done was look at her partner, but apparently he had not
captured her fancy enough for her to forget about everything else. That was
good. She would never be a Lady Button.
"My
dear, you were dancing. Why are you suddenly interested in Valeria's
whereabouts?" Lady Millbrook hoped Honoria would make herself available
for another dance.
"I
do not see Lord Brisselford either," Honoria said, not caring that the
young man's aunt was listening to her every word. "Surely all the
attractions are within this room and not outside it? There are plenty of
opportunities for a private chat within this room and the next. I have been
speaking to my friends about a secret and nobody overheard us."
A
young man, who had been sitting concealed behind one of Lady Inglewood's
feathery hair creations, now stood up and bowed. "Lord Brisselford was in
the cloakroom, My Lady. With a young lady."
The
man he had been speaking to also got to his feet to bow. Honoria had been
certain that the first man was Lord Fernham, but now that this second one had
stood up she was no longer sure. They looked very much alike and she stared
from one to the other. She recovered herself, remembering she ought to take
action. "Thank you, Lord Fernham and ... brother," she said, looking at
both of them, since she did not know which of the two answered to that title.
"I shall have a look forthwith."
"Nolly!"
said her mother as if to stop her.
"Yes,
Mama?" Honoria gave her her darkest frown. She was not to be stopped.
"You
were dancing with Lord Button."
"The
dance is over, Mama." She clutched her fists at her side. Finally she was
doing something that deserved approval and she had to cut it short. That would
indeed be painful to her mother. "I did not leave him without a partner in
the middle of a dance."
"But
you could dance again with someone else." Lady Millbrook thought Honoria
ought to take more steps along this path of goodness.
"I
could," Honoria agreed, audibly with no intention of doing so.
"However, since you have no intentions of retrieving your lost daughter, I
must."
Before
she could be called insolent, Honoria set off for the cloakroom. She searched
it, but the couple could not be found. As she emerged from the room, she ran
into Lord Fernham and his brother. She forgot which one had told her Lord
Brisselford was here. "I do not see them," she therefore said to
both. "Where would you take an innocent young lady? My friends and I have
been guarding the terrace doors all the while, so that is not where they went."
"You
assume we would take an innocent young lady from the room," said Lord
Fernham the first. He gave her a grave look.
"Indeed,"
said Lord Fernham the second.
"Where
do they take you?" Lord Fernham the first inquired, still grave.
"I
am not such a goose as to fall for such nonsense," she replied with a
glare, which was mostly directed at men luring such ladies away. She was
distracted when her sister came in through the front door, escorted by Lord
Brisselford. "Valeria, a word, please."
Valeria
looked concerned. "Yes, Nolly?"
Honoria
took her aside. "What were you doing outside? You cannot step outside with
a man you barely know and of whose intentions you know even less. What
happened?"
"We
were looking at the stars." As always, Valeria looked supremely innocent
and guileless.
"Did
he kiss you?" Honoria asked bluntly. She had no patience for euphemisms.
Who would want to look at the stars this evening, when there was so much more
to do? The stars were up there every night, contrary to dancing.
Valeria
blushed. "No! Nolly!"
It
was a blush of innocence and perceiving it was some relief to her elder sister.
"Say no to him next time. He should not be taking you outside and that is
something he knows very well." And if he had not known, he would be aware
of it now.
"Lord
Brisselford did not do anything."
"Next
time he will," Honoria predicted. "You trust him enough now, so next
time he will strike." She looked as if she might strike too, next time.
Valeria
left her coat in the cloakroom with an embarrassed blush and fled back into the
assembly rooms, not daring to look at Lord Brisselford.
Honoria
knew Lord Brisselford could feel she was not impressed with him. There was a
certain look in his eyes as he glanced at her. No, she was not falling over in
admiration and he did not know what to do about that. She supposed he rarely
met with such cool indifference in a young lady.
"I
have heard worse things about you, Lady Honoria," he snapped at her,
apparently not liking to have his plans thwarted.
"Thank
you for letting me know my concern was justified," she replied calmly. An
innocent man would have no reason to become malicious. He would apologise and
say he had not been thinking. That was something she could well understand,
given her acquaintance with some fellows, and she might even be sympathetic to
such an excuse. She waited until he had gone back into the common rooms and
then turned to her companions. "Are you acquainted with that man?"
"I
met him two days ago," said Lord Fernham the second, understanding that it
would do him no good to confess any sort of friendship. "And you...?"
he asked his look-alike.
"So
did I. We merely have the same aunt. Perhaps it would please you to hear we have
not heard worse things about you," Lord Fernham the first reassured her.
That
was idle flattering, if they had also been to the Kirby dinner party.
"Hmph," she said uncertainly, seeing her father approach them from
the common rooms. She waited. Perhaps he had been sent by her mother, but she
would be able to reassure him that all was well now. Valeria and Lord
Brisselford had been warned.
"You
had best stay here for a bit, Honoria. Young Robert is about to set free his
dead rat and Lady Inglewood is already uncommonly displeased with the
aspersions you cast on her nephew's character," he informed her.
"Papa,
how do you know about the dead rat?" Her eyes flew open in surprise,
making them even larger and more striking.
"You
smiled too much. Was it indeed a dead rat?"
She
began to smile because he had been guessing and because he was not reprimanding
her for anything. "Some fur on a string."
"Close
enough, but you had best stay here until it has been caught. I must keep a
closer eye on you. I hope you were not planning on dropping a frog onto these
gentlemen here?" he asked sternly.
"I
have not been outside to catch any, Papa," she said earnestly, but still
with a smile transforming her face. "You will make them afraid of
me."
"We
certainly are afraid to take any of your sisters outside, My Lady," said
Lord Fernham the first.
"But
we had not planned to," added Lord Fernham the second.
There
was some commotion from the ballroom -- ladies shrieked, but the music drowned
out what was called. "That will be the dead rat," Lord Millbrook
predicted. Then he looked relieved. "And my daughter had nothing to do
with it for once."
"You
are very keen on giving these gentlemen the correct image of me, Papa."
She could not guess his purpose in being so frank about her.
"But
of course. One of them has not had the pleasure of meeting you
previously."
"I
do not know which one. They look very much alike. One of them is Lord
Fernham." She looked from one to the other again, but she could not
remember which was the one she had met before.
"Indeed.
One of us is," said Lord Fernham the first, without feeling compelled to
enlighten her.
"Is
that how we will play it?" asked the second, who seemed content to take
his lead from his relative. "But Lord Millbrook knows who we are."
"Indeed
I do, but I do not feel disposed to reveal anybody's identity. I am only here
to defend my daughter's character, because that is seemingly the last thing she
thinks about." He looked resigned.
She
gave her father a dubious look. "You know I care very little for people
who think ill of me. Frogs on them!"
"May
I ask whether you subjected my aunt to a rana temporaria?" Lord
Fernham the first asked. "Or a bufo bufo?"
"I
can see this will be a boring conversation," said Lord Fernham the second.
"Frederick knows all the crawling creatures by their Latin names. Enjoy
yourselves." Lord Millbrook looked equally uninterested, or perhaps he had
observed enough interest in one young man's eyes to make himself scarce, and
the pair wandered off, but then Lord Fernham the second ran back. "Did I
give it away by calling him Frederick?"
"No,
I did not know your names beforehand," Honoria assured him. She had just
been about to ask Lord Fernham the first how he knew all the Latin names. It
was not a common accomplishment.
"Good,
good."
When
he was gone, Honoria looked at Lord Fernham the first, alias Frederick.
"Rana temporaria. Do you ... er ... take an interest in these things?" He
behaved so gravely that he had to be mocking. She would be disappointed if he
did not mock.
He
inclined his head slightly. "The other Lord Fernham thinks I do."
"But?"
"Perhaps
I do indeed. Do you?"
"I
know enough," she said guardedly. He was not a simpleton and he enjoyed
keeping her guessing. "He is the real Lord Fernham, is he
not?"
"Why
do you think so?"
"You
might be offended if I told you." It was obvious that the men were closely
related and hearing something that was perhaps disparaging to his relative
might offend, even if it could be taken as a compliment to himself.
"I
promise not to be offended."
She
weighed her options and decided to say it. "When we met him, I remember
thinking that for many people he needed not be clever, because he was handsome
and pleasant."
"So,
what am I?" he asked. "Clever? Or simply not handsome and
pleasant?"
"Sharp,
sharp," she said. That had to be the only answer he was going to receive.
It would tell him enough. "What do you think?"
He
merely smiled.
"And
what is he to you? I first thought you might be his brother, but you seem to be
older." Now that the other Lord Fernham had left them, she could no longer
compare the two in looks, but there was something in this man's manner that
caused the other to follow his lead. Age was the most logical explanation for
that, yet this could not be the elder brother. Could cousins be so similar?
"Does
it matter?"
"It
is only fair to be equally informed. You know who I am."
"Yes,
you are Lord Millbrook's eldest daughter, on whom everyone has an
opinion," he teased.
Honoria
had never considered herself to be interesting to everyone. It startled
her. "Everyone? Who? What?"
He
gave her a grin. "You might be offended if I told you."
"As
if no one ever does! Unsuitable, or so I heard from William Kirby that was what
Lady Inglewood told all of you at the Kirby dinner party. It cannot be worse
than that. Suitable would be worse, but nobody would say so!"
"You
father speaks highly of you; my aunt does not."
"It
is odd how she treats me like her best friend regardless," Honoria
remarked sarcastically. "I had no problems wriggling out of her how many
nephews she had and if there were more than just the Viscounts she kept
mentioning."
"I
think she would misunderstand that sort of interest," he said gravely.
"You
do not?"
"No,
I do not think so. She focuses too much on the Viscounts, does she not?"
"Have
you ever been to Venice?" she asked suddenly.
Lord
Fernham the first was no fool, even if the sudden change of topic ought to be
taking him a little by surprise. "I must connect that to the tales of Lord
Brisselford and your opinion of him."
"How
do you know?" she asked, feeling impressed.
"He
is rather full of the joys of Venice," he said tactfully. "And he has
not known me long enough to have exhausted the topic already. I wish he were a
poet, but alas -- he is a talker."
She
decided to be very impertinent. This character trait of hers had to have been
mentioned by someone, considering that everyone seemed to have an opinion on
her. "Might the joys of Venice be women? Something seems to have
distracted him so much that he can no longer keep track of which landmark was
in which city."
If he
was shocked by her boldness, he did not betray it. He gave her a very calm
answer. "I have not been to Venice. It could be wine or women, or whatever
young men indulge in when they are far from home with no one to keep an eye on
them."
"Sending
young boys out on their own is asking for trouble," Honoria commented. She
wished she could ask him some personal questions, such as how he knew what
young men indulged in. Still, if even she knew and she was not even a young
man, he might also have come by the knowledge passively.
"Oh
indeed," Lord Fernham the first agreed readily. "And keeping an eye
on one's sister is therefore very justified, unless she happens to be with
someone who has not been to Venice."
"Do
you mean I could easily allow you to take her outside?" asked Honoria, who
was not in the habit of imagining herself into any such situation. It was
something that happened to other girls.
"If
that was what I wished," he replied. "But that is not what I was
saying. I am talking to you and I was saying there is no need for any of your
sisters to keep an eye on us."
She
looked surprised. "Well, I suppose that is because nobody could ever
imagine I should be talking to young men for purposes other than planning some
more mischief."
"Mischief
is such a broad concept," Lord Fernham the first said with a reflective
look. "My mischief is of the sort that inspired my schoolmasters to set me
the task of writing Latin essays on small animals, but another person's idea of
mischief might well come close to my idea of vice."
"Small
animals that you caught, no doubt!" She looked delighted with it.
"But I still do not know your name." Honoria felt that it might be
important to know, now that their acquaintance was proving to be so agreeable.
His grave tone was such an act.
He
gave her a shrewd look. "You do. The other Lord Fernham said it was
Frederick. He was correct."
"But
I cannot call you Frederick."
"Why
not? If you are very curious I am sure Lady Inglewood will be happy to
enlighten you further."
She
looked dismayed. "She would think all sorts of things if I came to ask her
who Frederick was, not to mention that I am sure she would be highly displeased
if I referred to a real Viscount by his given name."
He
chuckled at that. "Really? You assume she does not know me. Perhaps I am
the only one she would allow to be with you without thinking much of it.
Perhaps my character is so fixed in her mind as excellent that it would not
occur to her to think anything at all. Perhaps I am too boring to inspire any
thoughts."
For a
moment Honoria considered that he might be Lord Fernley, who had been boring
according to her sisters and even to Victor, but then again, he had also been
described as not at all handsome. She looked at him uncertainly. "There is
someone you might be -- I was ill when I could have met him -- but I do not see
how, for the reports do not tally."
He
laughed at that. "If it is any help, the reports of you also did not
tally."
In
the carriage home, Honoria rested her cheek against the window pane, staring at
nothing. She did not feel inclined to join her sisters' discussion of the
evening and even the anecdote of the dead rat only managed to make her turn her
head very slightly before she resumed her prior position. She was content to be
alone with her feelings and recollections. Quite possibly she had never had
such a pleasant evening.
There
was something very agreeable about being able to talk to someone who understood
so well and who did not seek to correct her behaviour. Her father, she
believed, understood her too, but there was always the fear or expectation that
he would act like a father and berate her. This was so different.
At
home, her father beckoned her into his study. She acquiesced reluctantly, for
she would have preferred to go straight to bed to continue her daydreaming. He
poured her a glass of brandy and she choked on a thoughtless sip. She should
have remembered it was brandy.
"A
bit absentminded, are you?" Lord Millbrook asked. "Did you enjoy
yourself?"
"I
think so," she said cautiously, wondering how obvious it was. Nobody had
been with her -- how could they see? She had furthermore not even mentioned her
conversation.
He
observed her for a few moments. "I think so too. There is a fine blush on
your cheeks that your mother would have been pleased to note, had you been in
the ballroom."
Honoria
bent her head to hide the deepening blush. She remembered how Frederick had
said her father spoke highly of her -- also on the subject of her looks? He
appeared to have spoken to her father at some point and they appeared to have
received a favourable opinion of each other. She also realised acutely that she
still did not know his family name or title, something he seemed to consider
unimportant.
"Should
I have been in the ballroom?" she asked, in case her father thought so.
She had never returned to it, no matter what her intention had been. When her
family had come out to the cloakroom to leave, it had been too late.
"No,
no, I am sure young ... er ... did he ever tell you his name?"
"Frederick,
that is all I know," she said quietly. Her father had been there when the
name was revealed, so he could never accuse her of any improper behaviour.
"Well,
I did not want to spoil his fun, but I am sure young Frederick can be
trusted."
Honoria
twirled her glass between her fingers. She now understood some of her sisters'
excitement after meeting some particularly deserving young man, but contrary to
them she did not feel the need to talk about the young man all the time. Her
father seemed intent on discerning her feelings on the matter, however, and she
would rather not be questioned before she had made up her mind. "May I go
to bed, Papa?"
"Want
to be alone, do you?" he said shrewdly. "You had best go then."
In
bed, Honoria replayed the conversations at the assembly and imagined places
where she could have given more sparkling or clever answers. She was sorry that
she had not looked about the room before, although it remained to be seen how
she could have become acquainted with Lord Fernham the first if she had. She
could not have approached him without knowing who he was and she would not even
have wanted to. What a pure stroke of luck that she had come to speak with him
by accident!
She
wondered if she was ever going to discover who he was. He was not yet leaving
the neighbourhood, she supposed, and she must contrive to have their paths
cross again one of these days. She was not Lady Inglewood's greatest friend and
calling on the woman might be suspicious, yet something had to be done, for she
absolutely had to speak to him again.
Asking
her father to invite the Viscounts to dinner would be revealing too much of
herself, even though she suspected that her father would comply. It might only
be to tease her, but he would do it.
Maria
was thankfully too tired to ask too much. "How long had you been talking
to that man?"
Honoria
supposed she meant Frederick. "Not long. He had just come by." She
would be forgiven for this lie.
"Did
you do it to please Mama? I hope he did not bore you."
"I
did not suffer," she said, happy she could now be truthful, but she would
certainly suffer if she never saw him again. She could hardly define her
feelings and knew only that he had not said anything that could make her wish
unreasonable. He knew some biology, Latin, some facts of life and people and,
more importantly, he was quick-witted and curious. Furthermore, he had implied
that he shared her disapproval of certain types of behaviour, although for a
quick-witted man such a thing would not be difficult to feign if he wished to
appear to advantage.
The Bridge
At
breakfast, last night's assembly was still the main topic. The younger children
wanted to know all about it, especially about Valeria's look at the stars
together with Lord Brisselford, whom the younger girls had not met. They had
heard about this in the bedrooms, but they had not heard enough details to be
satisfied.
"Why
are all of you asking me?" Valeria asked a little peevishly.
"Nolly was hanging about the cloakroom with two gentlemen when I
came inside."
"Indeed
she was, Valeria," said Lord Millbrook. "And I made sure to intervene
as soon as possible by taking one of them away."
That
was the last thing anyone had expected to hear and there were some tentative
snickers around the table. Honoria turned bright red and had no suitable
rejoinder. She would have been able to defend herself in any other
circumstance.
"What
are you saying?" Lady Millbrook asked finally, after having tried to
imagine what had happened. It had to be someone she did not know, or else his
name would have been given. This had possibilities. "Did you take care to
leave Nolly alone with a gentleman? Who? Was it Lord Button? She danced with
him."
Honoria
pushed her chair back determinedly, grabbing two rolls from the breadbasket --
for on no account must she become even thinner -- and she left the room. She
was not going to stay for such a discussion. It could only embarrass her.
Dancing with Lord Button -- could there be anything less significant?
She had been asked and there had been no possibility to decline. All it meant
was that she had adhered to some standard of politeness.
She
went out into the park.
Naturally
she had to be disappointed upon her return at hearing Lord Fernley had called
on her father while she was out. It was not logical for him to be anyone other
than Frederick, but if she kept missing him she could never be certain. She did
not ask her sisters any questions lest they suspect something, but she treated
the news of his brief visit as though she was completely indifferent.
It
was fortunate for her that Lord Brisselford and Lord Button had just been seen
coming up the drive, so that any other topic or person was quite naturally and
immediately rendered unimportant. She did not care for either Viscount and went
upstairs to be miserable. If she sat with them, her mother would assume Lord
Button had come for her, but apart from that one dance she had seen nothing of
Lord Button at all last night.
She
had sent him towards Maria and Sarah and he might even have danced with them,
but nobody was ever going to mention that at all if it had happened. There
would not be any significance in that. Maria and Sarah danced with everybody.
Of
course, her deserting the breakfast table had not helped matters along in that
regard. If she now stayed, she might be tempted to say things about him he did
not deserve. It was not Lord Button's fault that he was not Frederick. She was
annoyed at her own silliness.
"Get
your riding gear, Nolly," her father called after her.
"But..."
She could not go out again, in case Lord Fernley returned. It was terribly
vexing to be so curious about someone and it was even more vexing that she
could not imagine why he should return. "I cannot go..."
"I
have an important meeting with my steward. I need you to do some estate
business for me."
Honoria
was involved in more estate matters than her brother, but this distinction
could not come at a worse moment. "Right now?" she cried as if that
was unheard of.
Lord
Millbrook did not seem to notice her distress. "Estate business is always
more important than whatever you had planned, dear child. Get your riding
clothes on and present yourself at the cow gate at twelve o'clock."
It
was south of the house, where the pastures and fields were beginning. She
surmised she would have to ride over the land with someone. That would take her
a while and she would be away from home all that time, unable to meet any
visitors. She felt very rebellious. "I do not want to."
"Do
it." Her father's tone brooked no opposition.
Half-heartedly
she changed her hopes to possibly running into a certain somebody on horseback.
There was no arguing with her father and the chances of someone visiting the
house twice in one day were slim anyway. "What am I to do?"
"You
are to show someone the new bridge over the brook."
"Who?
Why can he not go on his own?" It could easily be found and she had
nothing intelligent to say about it. Her company would contribute nothing
substantial and not many people would be encountered on the way.
"That
is not important. A business acquaintance, but he will be satisfied with
another representative of my family. You will go."
"You
are being very odd," she complained. "As if a business acquaintance
would accept the substitute. The only people who would are people who are able
to find the bridge on their own, because --"
Lord
Millbrook cut her short. "Go, child. You have ten minutes."
Honoria
cursed her bad luck as her horse slowly trotted towards the cow gate. She could
not even get herself to look ahead to see whom she might be meeting. The person
would already be there; she was late and she was not making any effort to
hurry.
This
was a very unfortunate occurrence. Why did her father have to assert his
paternal authority at precisely this moment? His interests always took
precedence over hers. It was unfair. It was also very unfair that she could not
tell him why she ought to stay home. It was something fanciful, silly and
girlish for which he would have no patience. She was not even certain she had
patience for it herself.
Someone
was already waiting, but she deliberately did not spoil her day any second too
early by checking who it was. She advanced slowly, exuding reluctance.
She
coloured when she could no longer avoid seeing whom she was to escort. She
softly bade Lord Fernham the first, alias Frederick, a good day, but then fell
silent, feeling all too acutely that her father must have some purpose in
bringing this about. It was too much of a coincidence. That her father should
know precisely what -- or who -- had been on her mind was very unsettling and
she needed a little time.
"I
am sure it was not your father's objective that you remain silent when he sent
you in his stead," he said gently when she seemed more intent on brushing
some dirt out of her horse's manes than on broaching any conversation.
"I
suppose not." She raised her eyes, wondering how clear the scheme was to
him. It would be very embarrassing if he saw through it as well. He might be
uncomfortable with such a blatant attempt, yet there was no evidence of
discomfort in his gaze.
"Are
you really to show me the bridge or are we to wait for your father?" He
sounded a little curious about the switch that had been made.
"The
bridge," she repeated. "Do you really want to see the bridge?"
She was ready to believe anything, now that her father was plotting.
"I
do. That was why I was going to meet your father. But if you can show me the
way as well, that is fine, especially if your father sent you."
Honoria
waited for him to elaborate on his father's reasons for sending her, but he did
not. "I am his honorary Viscount. He said he had something to talk about
with his steward..." She looked doubtful. Her father was not the type to
have double engagements. He would have sent her on purpose. "Why are you
his business acquaintance?"
"Am
I? That is better than that boring fellow who wishes to know about the bridge,
I suppose," he said in his customary grave tone, but with a smile in his
eyes.
"I
hope you do not think he thinks that anyway because he sent me."
"His
honorary Viscount. Who could be displeased at the honour? Certainly not an
equal. Why are you that, anyway?"
"There
was much to do about Viscounts lately," she said, finally smiling.
"And I have always thought I got my name because I was not a boy."
"But
at the time of your birth your father could not know he would need an honorary
Viscount later in life," Frederick remarked. "He might still have
hoped that his next child would be a boy, or he would have hoped that the boy
would be more capable than you."
"You
make it sound as if my brother is not."
"Well,"
he said, not thinking that needed elaboration. "Which way to the
bridge?"
She
pointed and they set off. "You think not!"
"You
have not been privy to my conversation with your brother," he said
tactfully.
"But
I asked him about you, after my sisters said you had not given them any
attention at all. I deduced you must have been speaking with my father and my
brother, but one does not ask one's father about these things."
"Excellent!
What did he say?"
"He
is so indiscreet. He seems to have spoken ill of his sisters. He did not say so
because it would never occur to him to view it in that light, but that is what
I deduced. He implied we were silly, did he not? And he told you I was severe
on young men."
"The
worst, he said. Do you now see why the reports did not tally?" Frederick
inquired. "My aunt -- such pretty girls and so polite, except the eldest.
She only has male friends. Your brother -- my sisters all discuss the
Viscounts, but my eldest sister is disposed to hate young men. Your father --
my eldest daughter is..." He paused deliberately.
"Is
what?" Honoria cried.
He
laughed at her. "Was the combination of my aunt's and your brother's
recommendations not enough to convince you that reports did not tally? How
could someone disposed to hate young men only have male friends?"
"I
wish to know what my father said."
"My
eldest daughter is ill. She will be sorry to miss the circus."
Frederick
set to work drawing the bridge, while Honoria stepped onto one of the age-old
stepping stones that had served as a crossing before the bridge. She needed to
be active to think.
She
was accompanying a man whose plan was to draw the bridge. Her father would have
known about this plan. Had he expected her to sit by Frederick's side, handing
him his pencils, or had he expected her to leave Frederick here? To be honest,
she might have left any other man here, but it might be interesting to stay
here now. Something was not right, though. Why should a business acquaintance
want to draw a bridge for fun? He had said it was for fun and she had to
believe him. Her father was playing some game here. He would probably also
expect her to stay. Very well, she would do as her father wished.
She
had jumped here before, many times, and felt perfectly comfortable jumping from
one stone to the other. Too comfortable, for there was a sudden splash when she
bent over to catch a glimpse of a large fish. She came up spluttering and
laughing, hoisting herself back onto the stone with ease.
Frederick,
who had dropped his sketchbook as he jumped up, looked bewildered.
"I
lost my footing," she called. "I am sorry to have scared you."
She jumped back in and paddled to the shore, her wet clothes making it
impossible to jump from stone to stone.
He
was still bewildered.
"This
happens to me," Honoria said with a shrug when she guessed he had perhaps
never seen such a thing before. "I am sorry I frightened you."
He held
out his hand and pulled her onto the bank. "That is all fine, but you must
tell your father I had nothing to do with it."
She
wrung her skirts, looking completely unconcerned. "He will know. I am
sorry, I am not well-bred and elegant -- and I saw a fish."
"I
must hold myself responsible," he said, trying to convince himself
Honoria
paused her wringing and gave him an amused smile. His tone did not quite
convince her. "For the fish?"
"For
not having tied you to a tree. This is a fine way of abusing your father's
trust," he observed.
She
knew he was merely saying what he ought to be saying, not what he was actually
thinking. "He would not have liked for me to be tied to a tree."
"What
am I to say if I bring you back wet?"
"How
do I explain your dryness?" she countered. She was escorting him.
"A gallant gentleman -- such as I do not need, by the way -- may wish to
be wet as well as a token of his gallantry."
Frederick
did not care for gallantry. "I think I may have to explain more than you.
Your father --"
"My
father knows me. Perhaps he wished to see --" She had best not make any
reference to testing in any sense, in case her father's plotting was not as
apparent to him as it was to her. "Go back to your drawing and let me
play. I promise not to fall anymore, but I love to..." She was going to say
play, but that could be misconstrued.
"Jump
in?" he asked, casting his eyes on her figure. "I should take you
home. You are too thin to be wet."
With
a guffaw, Honoria turned her back on him for those words. She took off her
outer garments and hung them onto branches in the sun.
"Lady
Honoria," he said rather helplessly. Even less remained of Lady Honoria if
she took off her riding habit, yet some would say it was still too much to be
seen.
She
did not bother to turn around. He could not know nearly as much about falling
into the Millbrook as she did and he ought to trust her experience. These
actions ensured her clothes would be dry very soon. It was all very sensible of
her, more sensible than keeping so many wet layers on. "Would you be so
boring if I had no father who had apparently inspired the fear of death in
you?"
"I
would let you carry on in that case -- to some extent -- but in this case I
have no doubt who will be blamed." He still spoke cautiously.
"My
father deliberately sent me with you." That meant her father would have to
accept all the consequences of that action.
"That
is why I should bring you back in one piece."
"I
am whole. Merely wet. I am escorting you, remember? As long as
you return dry and whole, there is no need to worry about me. I have fallen in
before. Will you stop seeing me as a girl? Nobody else does."
Any
comments about her age and general suitability to marriage would be as painful
as they were superfluous, so Honoria refrained from voicing any speculations on
whether this was a desperate attempt of her father's to get her married. She
would rather not have an unwilling gentleman forced to do the honourable thing,
especially since she had fallen in completely by accident and nobody was to
blame for anything. She understood his fears nevertheless. Perhaps he should
indeed have tied her to a tree so nothing could befall her, but to be honest
she would rather fall in on a sunny day, than be tied to a tree like some sort
of animal.
He
bit back a comment and turned away with a shake of his head.
Honoria
sat on one of the stones in the middle of the brook and let the cool water flow
through her hands. It was always soothing and she soon forgot to care about
anything. She sat there for a long time, simply glancing at the ever-changing
sparkling of the sunlight on the water and the ducks that came nearer if she
sat very still. Sometimes a fish came to the surface, but she was not afraid
that one would nibble at her toes.
Frederick
had returned to his drawing and she did not look in his direction. Not yet. She
should let him finish.
"Are
you dry?" Frederick called, disturbing her peace.
Honoria
glanced towards the bank. Reluctantly she stood up and she jumped across the
stones. Her skirt was still a bit wet, but she hoisted it up a little.
"Almost. Do you want to leave? Have you finished?"
"I
am nearly done. I thought you might try to get the trim of your undergown dry
while I finish my last drawing. And I have hung your clothes onto another tree
because the shadows moved."
She
had not noticed that at all and she looked a little surprised. "That is
very kind of you. Does that mean you now agree that it was sensible of me to
hang them there?"
"I
may always have agreed."
She rolled
her eyes and followed him towards where he had been sitting. There she lay down
on the grass to watch the progress of his drawing.
"Thank
you, Honoria," said Lord Millbrook, taking in her flushed cheeks and
healthy colour. "It was most kind of you to see to that business."
"You
are welcome, Papa." She quickly slipped away to change into completely dry
clothes, but before she did so, she halted just around the corner to eavesdrop.
"Did
you find what you were looking for, Lord Fernley?"
For a
moment the younger man hesitated, wondering if Lord Millbrook was speaking on
two different levels. Then he decided not to care. "I did." He rolled
out a piece of paper. "I made a drawing of the bridge."
"Most
excellent," said Lord Millbrook as he studied it. "You draw well.
Where was my daughter when you did this? I cannot imagine she sat by you
patiently, but she is also not part of the drawing."
"Falling
into the brook."
This
did not surprise Honoria's father in the least. "I hope this did not shock
you too much."
"She
... thought it quite normal. If you do too ... it cannot have been your intention
to bring about such a situation."
"She
will fall in or do something similar, unless I lock her up. I did not give her
any instructions to fall in, but I did not think you would mind very much if
something happened, Lord Fernley."
There
was a brief silence. "I do not. If I had not been on serious business
there I might have jumped in myself."
Honoria
ran upstairs. Frederick, Lord Fernley's calm words echoed in her head. He might
have jumped in himself. He implied he would do so next time if he did not have
any serious business -- or was she reading too much into his words? Which next
time?
The
thought that he and her father were coming to some secret arrangement to get
rid of her was rather distressing, though, no matter how much she might like
the gentleman. She did not want to be discussed in such a manner. Yet he was
Lord Fernley, the one she had missed meeting and who had been a favourite with
her father. What had they planned on that occasion?
She
hurried with her dress, but despite her efforts she found he had already left
when she came back downstairs.
"Papa..."
Honoria said when she had located her father. "You must not force me upon
unwilling and unsuspecting gentlemen by setting it up so you can count on me to
fall into the Millbrook, from where I cannot emerge but wet, so that you actually
put the poor gentleman in quite a fix because he feared you would be angry with
him for not having tied me to a tree."
He
observed the fierceness of her eyes. Seemingly there was quite a problem
somewhere. "I do not think I would have thought too highly of him if he
had indeed tied you to a tree."
"Neither
would I."
"Do
you think highly of him now then?"
"Does
he have a secret arrangement with you to take me off your hands? I would not
think highly of such an arrangement," she said with a proud blush. It was
as humiliating as it was secretly exciting.
"No,
you would want to be consulted." He did not sound as if he found fault
with that.
"Indeed."
"I
was consulting you by asking you if you think highly of him and you chose not
to answer. Should I conclude that you do not?" Her father looked to be
teasing.
"You
spoke to him before you spoke to me," she complained.
"No,
Honoria. I spoke to you first. You may think I cannot read you if you remain
silent, but you are quite wrong."
She
looked away. If she was so transparent it might be more significant if she
denied everything, so she might as well confess one small thing. "I think
more highly of him than of Lady Inglewood's other nephews -- but that does not
mean I would like to be the object of some business deal!"
"You
are not the object of any sort of deal. I have merely agreed with the young
fellow that there is no need to worry about any scrapes you get yourself into.
He will not be held responsible, nor will he be forced to marry you because you
fall into the brook."
That
would have been a relief to Frederick, she was sure. "But of course if
there are ever any intentional scrapes..." she said.
"Exactly."
Surprisingly,
Honoria could not muster up any interest in finding out which of her sisters
was favoured by Lord Button and which by Lord Brisselford. Should the latter
take all her sisters out onto the terrace in turn, she might care, but at the
moment it was very difficult.
It
was also difficult to ignore her sisters' chatter. She was thankful for sharing
a bedroom with Maria and not with Sarah and Valeria, since Maria was supposed
to be immune to the charms of both Viscounts. Whether Maria was immune or not,
she at least had the grace to keep that to herself.
Honoria
was usually the one who spent the least time in front of the mirror, but she
was now for some strange reason tempted to give her appearance a little more
attention, even if they were not entertaining guests for dinner. She was clever
enough to know that changes ought to be worked in slowly and not at the last
moment when the chance of their being noticed was so much greater. Someone
might wonder in astonishment at her earrings, for example, but it was wiser to
elicit that reaction on an innocent evening.
Maria
seemed not to notice, so that was good.
It
was Eleonora who noticed it at the dinner table. "You are wearing
ostentatious jewellery, Honoria!" Aged sixteen herself, she was subjected
to strict rules on what she was allowed to wear. Her eldest sister's freedom
made her jealous and Honoria's strictures on ostentation and impracticality
were always tedious.
Honoria
coloured in annoyance, for the jewellery was anything but ostentatious.
Lady
Millbrook inspected the earrings. "They are mine, Eleonora. Do not insult
me."
Her
eldest daughter wondered if both parents were now conspiring to see her wed.
Her father could not possibly have informed her mother, could he? She looked at
him with narrowed eyes, but he looked blank.
"As
some -- or all -- of you already know, Lady Inglewood has issued another
invitation," said Lord Millbrook. "By way of the Lord B's, who
delivered this here on her behalf today. Apparently some of you made yourselves
very agreeable to the young Lordships and they pressed their aunt to invite all
of us for tomorrow."
"But
not us," said Eleonora and Deborah simultaneously. They were always left
out, barely allowed to eat breakfast with their own family, but afterwards they
would be locked away into the schoolroom and no evening entertainment for them
until they were nineteen.
"There
will not be an exception for you this time either, no. I have, however,
arranged for an outing for you two young ones, chaperoned by Nolly."
"Where?"
they cried and Honoria was equally surprised. This was the first she heard of
it. Why was the girls' governess not taking them?
"You
will see that tomorrow." No matter how much he was questioned, Lord
Millbrook refused to reveal his plan for them.
The House of Horrors
There
was some squealing when Eleonora and Deborah were informed of their destination
the next day. They had wanted to go to the House of Horrors, a superbly
spectacular attraction, ever since they had heard of it and they were thrilled
to find out they were finally allowed to go.
For
her part, Honoria was thrilled to hear who was taking them. Her father was
really intent on throwing her in the man's way. That her mother wanted to come
was a surprise, but perhaps she would be useful in keeping an eye on the girls
when she was distracted.
She
had taken some care with regard to her appearance, although she had not dared
to be adventurous with earrings again. Younger sisters had no tact and they
would not hesitate to point out everything that was unusual about her looks,
not realising that it might have been deliberate. Or perhaps they would simply
not care about her feelings. After all, it had only been two days ago that Honoria
herself would have looked in contempt at such measures. She was still not
entirely sure that she ought to give in to such desires. It was foolish.
Eleonora
and Deborah were not at all interested in Lord Fernley or any possible
connection to Honoria, even though he was a new acquaintance and a gentleman.
However, with so many years that separated them from matrimony and because of
their general self-absorption, matchmaking for elder sisters was not yet one of
their interests, especially not if something much more exciting was on their
minds. They babbled incessantly about the Horrors and how their friends had not
been allowed to go. This was truly a wonderful opportunity to impress
everybody. Papa was the best father on earth.
Honoria
did not ask herself how her father had come to know about the Horrors -- he
tended to read the letters the youngest girls received to make sure some young
fool was not sending them self-written poetry and the girls appeared to have
corresponded at length about this novelty. Their friends did not live far away,
but they had discovered letter-writing for the exchange of the absolutely
earth-shattering news that could not wait until they met again.
Lady
Millbrook did not wonder openly why Lord Fernley was accompanying them, which
made Honoria suspect even more that her father had been talking to her mother.
The gentleman had been met without surprise, as if Lady Millbrook had known
everything about the how and why of the situation, and she had merely conveyed
her gratitude at his generosity.
His
Lordship himself seemed to do as he was bid, or perhaps he had ulterior motives
that Honoria was a little afraid to explore. He had been very kind and polite,
without raising any suspicions. He had not even expressed any wish to sit next
to her in the carriage. On the contrary, he had suggested that the three girls
sit on the same side opposite him. It had been tactfully done, Honoria thought,
since he had obviously meant that the three girls were very thin and her mother
was not, but saying that the girls were thin would imply that Lady Millbrook
was considerably larger than she was and one never knew who might be offended
by such an implication.
Lady
Millbrook said she would wait outside when they arrived at the House, but she
urged the young people to go in together. There were more parents and
grandparents who preferred to wait and the tavern across the street was faring
well. She had not made her decision until now, but the presence of so many
older people outside was not much of an incentive to go in. Presumably these
people were wise and refrained from subjecting their weaker hearts to the
Horrors. She should do as they did.
"Lady
Eleonora and Lady Deborah are so young that they may count as halves,"
said Frederick when they approached the ticket booth.
"I
think you may find that it is impolitic to refer to them as halves within their
hearing," Honoria said dryly. Her sisters were very keen on no longer
being seen as children, especially Eleonora.
"Indeed!
Do you also think we are half-witted?" Eleonora cried.
"Not
yet," he assured her. "But my opinions are never as fixed as
that." He studied the admission fees that were listed. "Unfortunately
you pay the full price."
"Of
course! We are very grown up." She might not yet be allowed to come to
formal gatherings with her family, but she was most definitely already sixteen
and in her opinion the only reason why she was not allowed to come was that
there was not enough space in the two carriages.
"Really?
Will you promise to be a big girl and not scream inside?" Frederick
inquired.
"I
am sixteen," Eleonora said with a roll of her eyes and a ladylike shake of
the head. "What do you take me for? You are not speaking to a small child.
Promise to be a big girl? Perhaps you should ask Debbie not to scream."
"I
am not a small child either!" said thirteen-year old Deborah indignantly.
"I know what you are doing! You are afraid and you hope we will now decide
we do not want to go in, so you do not have to either."
"You
found me out," he said with a sigh and fumbled in his pockets for money.
"But I see you are not to be dissuaded, so I shall buy tickets
immediately."
Honoria
stopped his search by putting her hand on his arm imperatively. "My
sisters, my expense." He would already have to suffer all of their
follies. It would not be fair.
One
did not argue with a determined woman, so he took his hand out of his pocket.
"But I am not your sister, so should I pay my own ticket?"
That
was an absurd question and she stared. "If I am paying the rest, I might
as well pay yours, if you do not have any great objections."
"Not
great, but..." Frederick teased.
"But?"
He
looked at her gravely. "You must promise me one thing."
"That
I will be a big girl and that I will not scream?" she asked in a sarcastic
voice.
"That,
in case I do not get to spend the sum of money I was given to spend, you will
take it at the end of the day and give it back?"
Honoria
was amazed. "He gave you money?"
The
corners of his eyes wrinkled as he laughed. "He is your father. He thinks
like you. My daughters, my expense."
"When
did he do that?"
"Yesterday."
Although
she did not see when else the transaction could have taken place, she was
surprised at the speed with which it had all been arranged. She had not taken
awfully long to pull on a dry gown yesterday, but by the time she had come down
it had all been agreed upon, including details such as money.
"Nolly!"
Eleonora interrupted them with a look of impatient irritation. "Will you
stop arguing over whose money it is? There is no queue at the moment. If you
get the tickets now we can go straight in!"
It
was not odd that in the utter darkness of the House, urged by the eerie sounds
of plaintive whistling and sinister rustling, Honoria should seek Frederick's
proximity. It was even less odd that she should grab his arm when a
particularly frightening scream pierced their ears, followed by the delighted
giggles of her fearless sisters, who were leading the way. He steadied her
comfortingly. Honoria quite liked it and gravitated towards him at the smallest
sound.
She
was infinitely glad her mother had chosen to remain outside. All this would not
have been possible with her mother nearby. She would be too afraid someone
would suddenly light a candle and expose her for the scandalous woman that she
was. Although it did not feel scandalous at all to be doing this, she knew it
would not have happened in daylight.
A
scary voice informing them that it was going to steal one of the party because
it was hungry sent even the two young girls scrambling back towards them with
nervous giggles and cries of distress. They did not care that they did not
really know the young man to whom they meant to attach themselves, but he had
been chosen to protect them and protect them he would.
"Nolly,
move aside! We want him," said Deborah when she found her eldest sister
already most firmly attached to their protector. "The ghost cannot want to
eat you."
"Do
not tell me you are scared, Deborah!" said Frederick, who felt his arms
being seized by the two girls and Honoria unceremoniously pushed out of the
way. "And you cannot want your sister to be eaten!"
"Rather
my sister than me! Someone is preying on us."
"Boo,"
said Honoria in her ear and Deborah screamed.
The
girls kept holding on to Frederick until they reached the end of the route --
Honoria did too, but her sisters would never know. As the girls fumbled to open
the door, he felt around for their sister who had released him, pulling her
towards him. "We must not leave you behind," he said, briefly
touching her cheek.
The
door opened and the girls ran out, screaming excitedly as if they were being
pursued by all manner of frightening things. Lady Millbrook was happy to see
they were apparently unscathed, but she was not sure about allowing them a
second go. "Nolly looks as if she will not go again," she said with a
look at her eldest's face.
"Allow
me to recover," she said in an unsteady voice.
"Some
refreshments?" Lord Fernley suggested after a tender look at Honoria that
went unnoticed by the others.
"You
are a bore," Deborah decided. "I knew you were frightened."
"Deborah!"
her mother chided. "Mind your manners."
"We
want to go again!"
"You
may, but I am not going another time," he replied. "It is less
fun."
"They
will never believe you," said Honoria. She took a few coins from her
pocket. "Here, buy another ticket. We shall be across the street in the
tavern." The gift of money was accepted with cheers from her sisters, who
would indeed never believe that the second time was less fun.
Lord
Fernley looked at Honoria uncertainly when the two girls had run off to the
booth on their own. "Do you mean I should go too?"
"Not
unless you want to." She held out her hand, offering him the rest of her
coins.
Gently
he folded her fingers over them. "I do not want to. Lady Millbrook, you
will want to sit down with something to drink."
"Very
kindly observed, Lord Fernley," the older woman said gratefully. "And
Nolly might like to sit down as well. She looks a bit out of sorts. Was it very
scary in there?" she asked as she ushered them across the road.
"Only
for young girls," he answered.
"Thank
you for the compliment," Honoria said dryly.
"You
appeared less frightened than your sisters, especially when you said boo and
Deborah screamed." He sounded amused.
"I
had no choice but to be less frightened. You already had two young ladies to
protect. I had to fend for myself."
"Oh
dear, oh dear," said Lady Millbrook. "What is this about protecting
young ladies?"
"They
grabbed my arms, My Lady," said Lord Fernley. "I have but two arms
and there were three ladies. There was one I could not see to."
"You
deserve a drink, my boy. I cannot believe you subjected yourself willingly to
such wild girls. Is my husband paying you or is he demanding Herculean feats of
you before you are allowed to ... er ... ?" She raised her eyebrows
meaningfully.
Honoria
was glad they were at that moment just entering the tavern, so that she did not
have to show her expression. The thought of her father setting Frederick some tasks
was distressing and that could be read plainly in her face. And what could be
the reason for such an assignment?
"This
was no Herculean feat, I assure you," said Lord Fernley.
"I
demand no feats of you, Herculean or otherwise," Lady Millbrook assured
him. "Only that you find us a table at the window."
That
was easily accomplished and they sat down. Lord Fernley ordered drinks for
them. "I wonder how frightened they will be," he commented. "Now
they cannot sacrifice their sister to the cannibal ghost."
"Surely
they must derive some comfort from the fact that none of us were eaten the
first round?" Honoria asked.
"Because
I was there to protect you..." He smiled with the kind of male superiority
that usually made her laugh.
This
time she felt inclined to take it more seriously. "Of course, but you did
not feel protective enough to accompany them a second time."
"No,
indeed," he answered. "Not of them. There is a time for
everything."
She
recalled how pleasant it had been to hide herself against Frederick for comfort
and how he had touched her face just before they had left the House of Horrors.
He might have found it pleasant as well. He had given her such a look a little
later. She would have been bolder had they gone in a second time, which was why
she had not. She imagined it now. Yes, she would have sought him out a little
sooner and she would not have let go until they came to the exit. That was
definitely not something to be attempted in the presence of two wild girls like
Ellie and Debbie.
Despite
their youth they were quite astute. If Honoria did not now behave as if she was
completely indifferent to Lord Fernley, they would remember how they had to
detach her from him, something they might forget if nothing inspired them.
"Well,"
said Lady Millbrook. "They are young enough to be fearless and old enough
to affect fear. If the other girls ever found out about the darkness and the
opportunity to hang onto gentlemen, they would demand to be sent here as well,
with protectors of their choice. Unfortunately not all gentlemen can be trusted
and such an excursion would be a very bad idea indeed."
This
was quite frank, coming from her mother, and Honoria stared.
"This
novelty," Lady Millbrook spoke with some sarcasm, gesturing at the
building across the street. "Already existed in my youth, but pray do not
tell Ellie and Debbie, for they think it extremely modern and fashionable, and
they would be devastated to discover that when it comes to entertainment,
nothing is new."
"Er
... and you have been?" Honoria asked, dumbfounded. "With
gentlemen?"
Her
mother laid a finger across her lips. "With a fine young man by the name
of Richard, whom I later married, but who was at the time posing as my brother.
Please, Honoria. Do not look at me as if you cannot possibly be related to me.
I was young once."
"Papa
posed as your brother?" She was still gaping.
"We
had very strict parents. They would never have approved. I thought them very
annoying at the time, but with so many daughters of my own now I have more sympathy
for their strictness."
"You
are not very strict, Lady Millbrook," said Frederick.
"I
cannot learn their lessons for them. Valeria is perhaps out a year too
soon," she said reflectively. "But the other three were quite
sensible at nineteen. Still, we are not going to send them here."
The
girls returned. Surprisingly, they had had fun again the second time around,
even though there had not been anybody to protect them. "We talked back to
the ghost," Deborah announced. "And then it was frightened, because
it did not dare to eat us!"
"It
was nothing but a man in a sheet," Eleonora said with her nose in the air.
"Nolly, you are such a coward to believe it was a ghost."
"Did
I?" Honoria had no knowledge of that.
"You
did not want to go in again." That was answer enough as far as Eleonora
was concerned. "And you were afraid we would steal him again, of
course," she said with a sly look at Frederick.
This
was sooner than Honoria had expected. She had been steeling herself against
such comments and she could look back in a composed manner. "Would it not
be fair not to?"
"Fair?"
Her sister spoke as if she had never heard of that word.
"I
would not have gone in again, so it is a moot point," said Frederick.
"Not
even alone with Honoria?"
"We
have already been once. Why should we go again?"
"Ellie,
you had best not ask stupid questions," said Lady Millbrook. "Would
you like something to drink?"
"It
is not stupid, Mama. If Nolly gets married, there is room for me in the
carriage and I can come to assemblies," Eleonora said earnestly.
Deborah
was indignant and the others were astonished. "It is not a matter of the
carriages being full," lectured Lady Millbrook. "If you turn nineteen
and we should still have Nolly or even one of the girls' husbands living with
us, we would just get another carriage. Until you are nineteen, you should not
concern yourself with carriage space, because you will simply not be allowed to
come."
Honoria
was embarrassed for Frederick's sake. He might not have any intentions and to
have a girl forced on him by just about everyone in that girl's family might be
a trifle unsettling. Perhaps he would take Eleonora's comments in the spirit
they were offered, that of sixteen-year old simplicity. He was not betraying
anything, though, neither enthusiasm nor disgust. He was simply looking out of
the window absentmindedly.
She
would like to know what he was thinking nevertheless. There was always a chance
that he merely liked all of her relatives, even the ones he had never met
before, but she was tempted to think that nobody would take them on a trip if
there was no other consideration playing a role. Perhaps this was the only way
he could see her again -- but he was looking out of the window. Suddenly her
spirits were low.
It
might all be her father's plan and Frederick might simply be incapable of
saying no. Surely he would not trifle with her feelings in such a manner? He
had to know that he was raising certain expectations by going along with these
plans of her father's.
Perhaps
he was only seeing where they would take him. None of them really committed him
to anything, she supposed. If nothing ever came of these plans only her father
was truly to blame.
Honoria
could not really decide what she thought. There was too much uncertainty about
Frederick's feelings. Apparently her father was not at all uncertain about
hers. This was a bit unsettling, as she was not as confident about any of this
as her father. Perhaps she should also settle for seeing where these schemes
would take her. Why did people summarise these situations with the phrase coming
to an agreement? All that uncertainty reduced to four words!
She
had been looking out of the window as well and she now found Frederick looking
at her. Her mother and sisters were busy ordering drinks, so she could look
back without anybody noticing. He did not look like someone bullied into
accompanying them. "How good are you at saying no?" she asked before
she could check herself.
"It
depends on who is asking," he said gravely.
She
uttered a soft groan. "I think you know what I mean."
"I
think I do, but did you know there are several ways of looking at the issue?
Depending on the angle, I may be either strong or weak...but I am not doing
anything against my will. To be led by one's will is not always laudable,
unless it coincides with the other person's, naturally." He smiled at her.
"Does it?"
"So
far," she said cautiously.
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