by Mira Stables
HONEY-POT
Mira Stables
© Mira Stables 1977
Mira Stables has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 1977 by Hale.
This edition published in 2017 by Endeavour Media Ltd.
For that canine Honey-pot Jai and her attendant Court
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter One
“Russet Ingram? Oh, no! You must be bamming me.”
The soft, pretty voice rose to a sharper pitch, and drew down prompt reproof on the speaker’s head.
“Letty! Lower your voice, child! How often am I to tell you that a lady never raises her voice in public? Your language, too. ‘Bamming’, indeed! I’m sure I cannot imagine where you pick up such words. It is not as though you had brothers to lead you into habits of careless speech.”
Her daughter’s charming countenance was turned to hers, innocence and penitence writ plain for all the world to see. The golden head drooped a little as Letty said, “I am sorry, Mama. Is it so very bad? I thought it was only another word for hoaxing. I had it from Mary, I think. I daresay she picked it up from John or Robert. I will try to remember not to use it again.”
Since the Mary in question was the daughter of a Viscount and her elder brother a very eligible parti, this answer wholly appeased Mrs. Waydene’s displeasure. Her slightly petulant expression turned to an indulgent smile.
“Such a sweet girl, dear Mary,” she told her hostess. “She and my Lettice are the greatest of friends. Indeed, if Letty’s affections had not already been engaged, I cannot help feeling that a match between her and Robert Dysart would have been quite delightful. But there is Lucinda to come out next year,” she added contentedly, “and it may be”—she broke off at that point. Such solemn matters were not for young ears. She turned back to the two girls who had been exchanging confidences in the window seat. “And what has Barbara been saying, that you should accuse her of hoaxing you?” she wanted to know.
“Why! She tells me that it is Russet Ingram who is the toast of the town—the famous ‘honey-pot’ who has taken society by storm. And indeed I found it hard to believe, Mama. I daresay you will find it difficult even to recall her appearance. She was the junior governess at Mrs. Selmerdine’s though she did not come much in my way. You may remember her sister, Joanna, who is a little younger than I and very pretty. Miss Ingram, too, had been a pupil at the Academy. The other girls said that Mrs. Selmerdine kept her on as a governess out of kindness when her Papa lost his money.”
She did not add that the kindness—or so her fellow pupils had agreed—was for Miss Ingram’s Papa. One did not say such things to Mama. She would find it pert and disagreeable. It would blemish her mental image of a sweetly ingenuous little daughter, an image that Letty had been at some pains to nourish and preserve.
Mama was nodding her head reflectively. “I certainly remember the Ingram débacle,” she said slowly. “A fortune gamed away in a night, or so the story ran. Though I daresay there had been some pretty deep doings before that.” It occurred to her that here was another subject unsuited to the tender ears of innocence. She turned to her hostess with a request that the girls should be permitted to stroll through the conservatories for a while.
Mrs Mansfield was very willing. There was a good deal of pleasure to be got from bringing out a daughter, especially one so successful as her Barbara, who had obliged her by contracting a very eligible alliance during this, her first season. But there could be no denying that the young were very much in the way when one wanted to enjoy a comfortable gossip. She waited only until the girls had gone before enquiring in deeply interested tones, “And when may we expect to see the announcement of Lettice’s betrothal?”
Mrs Waydene preened a little. “It is not quite settled,” she explained. “Lucian’s parents wish to give a dress ball to celebrate the event, and it would be improper for them to do so before they have put off their blacks for his grandpapa. I should think perhaps next month. Otherwise people will be leaving Town for the summer. But I tell Lucian there is no great hurry for the marriage. I am not so anxious to part with my treasure. She has been the greatest comfort to me since her Papa died and I really don’t know how I shall go on without her. Which makes it so very fortunate that she should have set her heart on Lucian. It will be delightful having her so close at hand. Indeed it was that circumstance which reconciled me to the match, for it cannot be said to be a brilliant one, you know. To be sure, his fortune is handsome. But the estate is not large, and the house is pretty rather than distinguished. A mere baronet, too. Since we are quite alone, I need not scruple to say that I think my pretty Letty might have looked higher. But she had been attached to him ever since she was a mere schoolgirl, and he, of course, dotes on her. I had not the heart to refuse my consent.”
That at least one could believe, thought Mrs Mansfield shrewdly; with two more daughters on her hands and the younger one as freckled as a plover’s egg, though Lucinda, at least, was more that passably pretty. She herself was not a besotted parent and acknowledged that though her Barbara was sensible and pleasant mannered she was no more than well to pass in point of beauty, while Letty Waydene was the answer to a mother’s prayers, deliciously feminine with her golden curls and big blue eyes, her modest bearing and demure ways. There was a touch of malice in her voice as she said, on a tiny sigh, “Our girls must think themselves fortunate to have received even respectable offers while there is a Russet Ingram to turn the heads of all the most eligible bachelors in Town.”
Fortunately for the smoothness of their further relationship, Mrs Waydene was sufficiently interested in Miss Ingram to overlook the slight to her darling. She said slowly, as one dredging up memories of some insignificant happening, “I think I do remember the girl. Thin and colourless, save for her hair, and, I should have said, totally lacking in feminine appeal. For once I am inclined to agree with Letty. Are you sure that you are not hoaxing me?”
Mrs Mansfield smiled. “Quite sure. Wait till you see her. I think you have not allowed for the gilding that wealth and good taste can bestow upon even a thin and colourless female. I doubt if another woman would ever describe Miss Ingram as good looking, but no one, now, would call her colourless. That copper coloured hair of hers was probably a disaster in a penniless governess. To a girl who is always beautifully dressed in colours and materials that set it off to perfection, it becomes a distinguishing feature which stamps her as something out of the common. And her charm is undeniable. Even her rivals admit it. While as for her manners, she conducts herself with an unassuming simplicity that cannot fail to please.”
“A paragon indeed,” said Mrs Waydene with something of a snap. “And a handsome fortune, of course!”
“So I believe. It is generally understood that the uncle left his money equally between the two sisters, which would make them both substantial heiresses.”
“Then it seems strange that this one has not married. If memory serves me she must be three or four and twenty. At this rate, for all her fortune and this much vaunted charm, she will end up an ape leader.”
Mrs Mansfield shrugged. “If she does, it will not be from lack of opportunity to change her state. Though naturally she herself does not speak of it, she must have refused some splendid offers. The gentlemen themselves make no secret of it. Indeed Mr Mansfield tells me t
hat they lay bets in the clubs as to which of them will win the prize.”
“Disgusting,” snorted her listener.
“Indeed! But scarcely Miss Ingram’s fault,” pointed out Mrs Mansfield. “Any mother with daughters to dispose of cannot but wish that she would make her choice, for it is quite true that the men are round her like bees round a honey-pot—which is how she came by that ridiculous nickname—but I must admit that she is a delightful girl. She showed Barbara great kindness when she made her come-out. You know how gauche and stiff a debutante can be. Miss Ingram invited her to one or two small informal parties which were not so alarming as the grander functions, took her driving in the park several times and introduced her to a number of unexceptionable young gentlemen, so that she soon began to feel herself more at home in the social scene. Both Barbara and I have good cause to be grateful to her.”
This honest tribute only stirred Mrs Waydene to deeper disapproval. “To me there is something very objectionable about so young a female assuming the rights and privileges of an established hostess,” she announced firmly. “To be giving her own parties, inviting just such friends as she chooses, patronising younger girls, seems to me presumptuous to the point of arrogance. But of course she is of dubious ancestry, is she not? The Ingrams are above criticism I am well aware, but did not Ralph Ingram marry some foreigner? French or Spanish, I think. And who is to say what kind of family she came from?”
“He married the only daughter of a noble Siennese family,” returned Mrs Mansfield drily, “and was thought to have done very well for himself. If Miss Ingram has cause to be ashamed of either of her parents, it is certainly not her Mama. Ralph Ingram is a charming good-for-naught who squandered a respectable inheritance in gambling and other disreputable pursuits too improper to mention. It is an open secret that his uncle’s fortune came to the two girls on condition that he reside permanently in Italy where adequate provision was made for his comfort. And it is at least to his credit that he did not object to such a humiliating arrangement. I believe he is a very likeable creature. His wife adored him to her dying day, despite his flagrant infidelities, and the two girls visit him regularly.”
Mrs Waydene looked more sour than ever. “You are very loyal,” she said in disparaging tones. “I suppose Miss Ingram has a chaperone? Or is she, perhaps, beyond the age of needing one?”
Her hostess laughed. “Not quite,” she said temperately, remembering that she was the hostess; though why she had troubled to keep up her acquaintance with her old school fellow she really could not imagine. “A widowed cousin lives with them—there is a younger sister, you know, only just out.” And dared not add that Joanna Ingram was thought to have brought off the catch of the season. It was not yet announced, but the girl was to spend a month at a certain ducal residence, which surely indicated which way the wind lay. She managed to turn the talk to the vast expense of bringing out a daughter, a topic which appealed very much to Mrs Waydene since, she confided, the cost of Letty’s belated debut was to be met by her guardian and trustee, who had also promised to lend his Town house for the grand ball which was to inaugurate several weeks of gaiety.
Now if one was to talk of breeding and of inherited characteristics, thought Mrs Mansfield while her guest ran on about Mr Cameron’s generosity, that gentleman must have some interesting possibilities. On the father’s side he was descended from a scion of Clan Cameron, one of those unfortunate gentlemen who had supported the Stuart cause in the ’Fifteen rising and had followed his king into exile. A Highland gentleman, proud as the devil no doubt, brooking no opposition to his will. And as though that were not enough, he—or perhaps it was his son, she could not precisely remember—had married a Polish lady. A Countess, some said, though she, too, was an exile since one or other of the interminable wars that had ravaged her unhappy country. The present James Cameron was something of a mystery. Apart from his friendship with the late Mr Waydene, a friendship stemming from a chance encounter in India, little was known of him. He seemed to be a man of wealth, since he had a house in Leicestershire and another in Hampshire as well as the Town house. He kept magnificent horses, too, but apart from this showed no particular signs of affluence. He was no gamester and took little part in the round of functions which filled every waking hour during the season. She enquired politely if he would be playing host for Letty’s ball, but Mrs Waydene seemed to think it unlikely. He had given her carte blanche to make all the arrangements but had been evasive about his own movements on the all-important night, saying that he might not be returned from Hampshire and that she had better secure the support of her brother, Letty’s other guardian, to oversee the comfort of the male guests!
“Not that one really needs a host for that kind of party,” explained Mrs Waydene judicially. “It is not as if there was to be any gaming. A card party is all very well in its way, but I do not intend to have half the gentlemen vanishing into the card room at my daughter’s ball.”
Mrs Mansfield, who would not have dreamed of giving a party which did not offer some form of entertainment for such of her guests as did not care for dancing, nodded sagely, and thought it would take a very determined gentleman indeed to withstand Emily’s hectoring ways. She did not wonder at James Cameron’s evasive tactics, but could not help hoping that he would change his mind about appearing at his ward’s ball. Since she had never previously chanced to meet him, his presence would relieve the tedium of a long evening spent in exchanging all the usual platitudes with the usual band of dutiful chaperones.
Mrs Waydene began to gather up gloves and reticule preparatory to departure. An abigail was despatched to find the young ladies and tell Miss Waydene that her Mama was ready to leave.
The conversation in the conservatories had also touched briefly on Miss Ingram. Letty’s ecstatic description of the gown that she was to wear for the ball had led to a long and exhaustive discussion of the wardrobes of both young ladies, and Barbara’s remarks had been punctuated from time to time by such phrases as, “and Miss Ingram says I should never wear pink, except the very palest shades,” or, wistfully, “I would dearly love just such a gown as that, but Miss Ingram advised against satin because it would make me look plump.”
It was natural, then, that when at last the absorbing topic of dress had palled a little, Letty should say, “You seem to set a good deal of store by Russet Ingram’s opinion. Do tell me more about her. I cannot picture her as a society belle.”
Barbara was nothing loath. She had conceived a great admiration for the older girl which had developed into sincere affection. She was happy to talk of her, extolling her kindness and describing various toilets that she had worn, praising her wit and her accomplishments and, inevitably, referring to the way that she held court, with attentive gentlemen hurrying to forestall her lightest wish. She did not notice that Letty, her curiosity soon appeased, had begun to look first bored and then distinctly petulant. Presently she broke in rather rudely upon her friend’s account of a theatre party and the number of gentlemen who had crowded not only Miss Ingram’s box but also the corridor that led to it, saying with a tiny artificial yawn, “Indeed a diamond of the first water—as Mama would not permit me to say. And all the gentlemen so besotted! It must be as amusing as a play. But I can tell you of one man, at least, who will not succumb to her spell, charm she never so wisely,” and her mouth curved to a little smile of triumph.
Barbara stared at her, her soft pink lips half open in protest at this gross misrepresentation of her friend’s character. Miss Ingram did not deliberately strive to enmesh her many admirers. It was just that she was so appealing, so sympathetic and so comically entertaining, too. But Letty did not wait to hear. She went on confidently, “All the rest of the world may bow down and worship her if they will. But not my Lucian. If I am by his side, he will not even be aware of her existence. No, not even if she were to single him out for her particular favour. He has eyes only for me.”
Chapter Two
“An excellent
choice, love. You look quite delightfully. The brocade has made up even better than I thought and the hoop is quite large enough. Any wider and it would have appeared clumsy. But not that fan, do you think?”
Miss Joanna Ingram looked down regretfully at the fan which hung from one slender wrist. Its creamy silk fabric was a perfect match for the deeper hue that showed in the folds of the brocade, and its delicate design of birds and flowers in soft tones of pink and blue and mauve was exactly to her youthful taste.
“You gave it to me yourself,” she pointed out hopefully, “and I have always liked it the best of all my fans.”
Russet smiled. “So I did, my dear. And that is just why. It would be more tactful to carry the parchment one that the Duchess gave you, which also goes well with your dress even if it is not quite so pretty. She would be gratified to see you using it, and Gilbert will be pleased by anything that pleases his Mama. He is truly devoted to her, you know, and I am sure it is an object with you to win his approval, even in so small a matter.”
Joanna’s face lit to the mere suggestion. She was deliciously transparent, thought Russet, half pityingly. Heaven send that nothing occurred to blight her innocent happiness. She was so young, so defenceless, all her heart given to her adored Gilbert. And so far as the man himself was concerned, Russet knew no fears. She had learned a good deal about gentlemen during the two years of her reign over London’s social whirl, even if she had not yet met the one for whom she would willingly surrender her spinster freedom. Joanna had chosen wisely. It was the attitude of Gilbert’s parents that gave her sister some cause for concern. They had been kind. But the kindness had been cool, reserved. And Russet suspected that this temperate welcome was of deliberate policy. Outright opposition would probably have estranged their son, made him all the more determined to marry Joanna, for he was no weakling. The Duchess was probably relying upon the close attachment between herself and Gilbert to help her dissuade him from a match which she could not wholly approve. In all fairness, Russet could not honestly blame her. Joanna herself was unexceptionable—well-born, well-dowered and so deep in love as to be willing to learn eagerly all the difficult lessons that would be part of her training for the great state that she would some day enjoy. If enjoyment was an accurate description, thought her sister wryly. But what great family would wish for so close an association with the black sheep of the Ingrams? What parents, with a succession to consider, could fail to wonder whether Papa’s wildness might not come out in the innocent Joanna or her offspring? The invitation to spend a month at Denholme had been a significant advance. Gilbert must indeed be pressing his parents hard. But it had not included Joanna’s sister. The Duchess was doubtless anxious to see how the girl conducted herself when the restraining influence of elder sister and Cousin Olivia was removed.