Honoria and the Family Obligation

by Alicia Cameron

  And so indeed it proved.

  With a sigh, Allison slowed down again to greet the new arrival.

  With a deft series of bows to the gentlemen and ladies, Mr Wilbert Fenton, whose blue riding habit was of the first stare, made his object known. He wondered if Lady Sumner would walk in the grounds with him, as he had a particular matter to discuss with her.

  Genevieve was rather more than surprised. Mr Wilbert Fenton was a very slight acquaintance of hers and even slighter of her husband. He could not be bearing a message from Frederick, she believed, because although both gamesters, they did not mix in the same set. This must be about Benedict’s trouble. With unwomanly haste, Genevieve jumped from the phaeton and went to the head of the handsome bay whilst Sir Wilbert got down from the horse with more facility than one would expect of his portly figure.

  ‘Let us all take a walk,’ said Mr Allison, conscious that a stroll with a married lady and an old roué like Fenton could excite unfavourable opinion, despite the age gap. ‘Belcher,’ he said to his groom, ‘tie up Mr Fenton’s bay and Mr Scribster’s grey and then take the reins.’ Belcher jumped down from the back bar and hastened to do so.

  It had been a very informative walk. Mr Scribster would have been mightily amused had he been looking from the outside, rather than now fully involved. Instead he felt as though his innards had been ripped out and ground beneath the feet of careless, unaware friends. He watched as Rowley attempted to walk with Honoria and avoid her sister, in which he was fouled by the Lieutenant, who somehow managed to insert himself between his cousin and Honoria.

  Honoria looked at him sometimes, when she could do so without turning her head so much that it was noticeable and she exchanged one of the blank stares that echoed his own, but which seemed to convey so much. Her gaze flickered to his hat and he saw approval, he opened his eyes a little as the Lieutenant claimed her attention on the feeble excuse of showing her a perfect bloom. She blushed, and her stare now chastised him not to tease, but so much in the manner of a friend than a rival suitor, that the knife entered again. His expression must have changed somewhat, for she looked concerned for a moment.

  He looked at Prescott and wondered if the gallant was in any way good enough for her. He would be a kind and attentive husband. But such a fool that she must surely come to notice it, maybe only when he fails to provide for their third child and they are walking the streets in penury. Until then, his wonderfully good manners and handsome visage would save him.

  When Rowley got her on his own at last, Scribster had a ridiculous inability to foresee anything but roses and champagne in Honoria’s future. He was a truly good man, his friend. And once Honoria gave up being terrified of him, he could not but enjoy the kindness, the warmth and the humour that characterised her. He would be an honourable and eventually, a loving husband. If only her star of a sister did not visit too often. But even that would fade in time, especially once Serena herself married.

  Oh, for goodness sake, why could Rowley not just offer for the sister he wanted? Honoria would recover from the humiliation, he could see to that. He would be her friend and such a friend that when he could spring his other hopes on her (in perhaps two or three years) she might just be brought to think of him in that way.

  None of the party showed any disposition to wonder at the two who walked ahead, in sight, but out of earshot. They were too busy caught in their own drama.

  Chapter 17

  Mr Wilbert Fenton Makes Plans

  Wilbert laid Lady Sumner’s hand on his supporting arm in the manner of her grandfather. She barely noticed, so concentrated on his words was she.

  He was doing the polite, asking pardon for disturbing her outing, inquiring after her father and her husband.

  ‘My husband is out of town, I believe. But never mind that! You wish to talk to me of Benedict.’

  ‘In a sense, yes. But first of all, of your husband.’

  ‘What of him? What has he to do with this?’

  ‘We do not know each other, my lady.’

  ‘Not well, no.’

  ‘My nephew is, I believe, a childhood friend of yours.’

  ‘Say what you wish to say to me. Ask what you wish to ask of me.’

  ‘Benedict wanted some information from me. Information concerning your husband.’ She had stopped now and grasped his arm, her eyes wild on his. He looked back at her, open. ‘And like a fool, I gave it to him.’

  He drew her forward, conscious that the party behind were gaining on him. ‘What information?’

  ‘I did not ask myself the question, you see. Why did he want such information? I did guess what he wished to do with it, but I-’

  ‘What information?’ she asked again, stopping. Sir Wilbert bowed slightly at an acquaintance who was passing in the opposite direction and he muttered at her, ‘Keep walking, madam, unless you want to excite comment.’

  Genevieve, almost beside herself since Benedict’s attack, said passionately, under her breath. ‘I do not care,’ but she moved nevertheless.

  ‘I must ask you first. Do you have need of money? Did you confess as much to Benedict?’

  ‘I didn’t.’ But then she searched her memory and was confused. ‘Perhaps, but that was not the subject of- is this about money? Please tell me what Benedict wanted from you.’

  He looked at her, her figure that of a whippet rather than a lady, her hair caught up roughly beneath her bonnet, a veritable nest for the nearest starlings, her long nose and cheeks flushed unbecomingly, her eyes mad with a passionate desire to know more. The eyes and the passion made Wilbert Fenton understand a little of what it was that Benedict saw in her. A woman with more life in her than many fashionable matrons.

  ‘If I tell you what Benedict wished to know, will you give me the other piece of the puzzle? Will you tell me what occurred between you?’

  She flushed anew. ‘You may be assured that it was not any of your first thoughts. My appearance might assure you of that.’

  Many complimentary words flew to Mr Wilbert Fenton’s practised mouth, but under Lady Sumner’s raw gaze he could not voice them.

  ‘He knew of a misfortune that I had, that had just occurred, and I think he wished to aid me, I told them there was nothing he could do. But he is the most redoubtable boy. He always wished to aid wounded creatures.’

  ‘I imagine that marriage to such as your husband has made a wounded creature out of you.’ He said this lightly, referring to the best known of Sumner’s vices, his gambling and whoring, but she froze, holding one hand to her throat. And another thought occurred. ‘Ah, I see. Literally, not only figuratively, wounded.’ She dropped the hand to her stomach and he saw even more. ‘Does Sumner know?’ he said, gesturing to the protective hand.

  She tilted her chin. ‘No! No-one.’

  Wilbert Fenton sighed. ‘I wish that I had never gotten involved. But it is useless to repine. I was careless with Dickie, I little thought what it would lead to, nor cared, I suppose. But the attack has made a difference.’

  ‘What information did you give to Dickie?’ she asked simply.

  ‘I found out which card sharks had won the most part of your husband’s fortune.’

  ‘To what end?’

  ‘To win it back, the way they won it from your fool of a husband.’

  Genevieve did not even try to protest. She was too weary. ‘Cheating? It would be beneath Benedict.’

  ‘But yet-’

  ‘What are the names? Is it one of them who sought to rob and kill Benedict? All my fault!’

  He grasped the slender hand on his arm with his other hand. ‘Mine too. I cannot give you the names. But rest assured, if one of them is culpable, they will pay.’

  Genevieve saw the energy and power in this rather overdressed, stout gentleman.

  ‘I do not know what to do. Give me something to do.’

  ‘Help tend to Benedict. I will let you know if there is any more to do than that.’

  Her Ladyship stopped still. In the d
istance, she saw a familiar figure, walking with another gentleman and unaware of the group approaching.

  ‘It’s Sumner! Please Mr Fenton, get me out of here.’

  With admirable alacrity, Benedict’s uncle turned down a small path at a right angle to them and disappeared with Lady Sumner on his arm. He emerged back onto the original path in a trice and approached the walking party quickly, but alone, taking Mr Allison aside.

  ‘Pray don’t ask me why, my boy, but take the party back to the carriage and I will meet you at the gate to the right with Lady Sumner.’

  Something in the older man’s eyes brought Allison to heel and he bowed, then turned and herded his passengers back to the carriage, lifting Honoria in. He was not surprised when Serena seated herself, though the perch was high.

  Before his lordship, all unawares, was upon them, he had bowled around to the gate and picked up her ladyship and was on the way to Grosvenor Square, only half a mile away.

  Genevieve thought and thought, wringing her hands. Cheating at cards. Benedict? And Sumner so sure that he was a man about town, up to every fig and fancy. But just as with the stud farm he had been duped by those seeking to profit from him, The fool! And he is my husband before God, so what does that make me?

  Unconsciously she touched her stomach again.

  She had left her husband when he had tried to choke the life out of her on account of her wretched tongue. It was capable of staying shut, but incapable of falsehood if she was asked a question. As Sumner had fallen into her bedchamber and onto her bed, still dressed in the evening clothes that reeked of gin and cheap perfume, he had said, after forcing a kiss upon her, ‘Here to do the husband’s duty my dear,’ he was wrestling her and she was about to tell him that she was with child, that there was no need, when he said, ‘You despise me, don’t you Madame Prude?’

  ‘Yes,’ her stupid tongue answered and then he had tried to choke the life from her. It was not the first attack. He had thrown her across the room once and she had split an eye on a grate - which thankfully required her to keep to her room for a week. Most other times were bruises that could not be seen, some hidden by gloves or long sleeves, most by her gowns themselves. His predilection was a fist in the stomach or a kick on her back when she was down. This time though, her knee had come up of its own volition and he had rolled over, groaning, and cursing in words she had never before heard, then fallen into a drunken sleep. Genevieve had risen, and summoned her maid to pack and a drowsy footman to hire a postchaise for the earliest hour of the morning, well before Sumner could have the ability to rise. When she was packed and dressed and about to await daybreak in the green drawing room downstairs she had looked back at him. His clothes half-off, his slack jaw drooling, fouling the snowy pillow, his face grey and dissipated, and she tried to see any trace of the unremarkable but affable young man that she had wed. She could not. His every line repulsed her now and she was his for life. She must bear it, but for the moment she could not risk that he choke her once more, for he would choke the life from his baby as he did so.

  She had gone home to Ottershaw, though she’d had no notion what to do next.

  Now was the next. Why had Benedict won back money? What did he plan to do with it? Was he turning into another gamester like Sumner? Or worse than that - a cheat? But Genevieve knew better than that. Benedict had a plan to help her, she was sure. She was furious with him and herself. How could she have let him guess? She knew who he was - he would never let it go. So she must save herself. It was risky, and especially with Sumner in town. Why had he come?

  Allison felt fate against him. He had tried to do the decent thing, to propose, and he had been thwarted once more. He ignored the relief that flooded his system and concentrated on his disappointment. Honoria’s pertness this morning (which she had not seemed to be conscious of - as if she had her attention elsewhere) had intrigued him, and brought him to believe that if he married her he would not be reduced to staring at a beautiful statue every day of his life. On the other hand, he was no longer so sure that she would consent. That this idea also brought relief he ignored. He had noticed Prescott’s interest on her - could have intervened at any time to let him know of his intentions - Darnley was honourable and would have punctiliously withdrawn - but he had not. Perhaps he hoped his cousin might be brought to the point. But the parents would naturally wish their daughter to take her place in the world, not trail around it in the wake of an impecunious husband.

  But Honoria’s underwhelmed reaction to his attempt at paying his addresses meant something. It would not give her pain if he asked for her sister’s hand, and surely, after some explanation on his part, the parents would be brought to understand. But this all depended on Serena’s feelings for him. If they were any more than brotherly, he had yet to discover it. And she had met so few men. Was it kind in him to attempt to secure her before even her first season? Her sister had been last season’s beauty. Serena would be next season’s sensation. A beautiful, vivacious girl, full of intelligence and charm would have every eligible man in London at her blue slippered feet, however limited her portion. Part of him would like to see her conquer all in her first season, but that wasn’t a big part. Rowley Allison, he thought to himself, since when have you feared a rival for any woman? Strangely enough, it was Serena’s teasing smiles and comfortable intimacy with him that sounded a death knell to his hopes. She had no consciousness of him as a suitor. She did not think of him in that light.

  The only rational place for him now was in Bedlam.

  The sickbed of Benedict Fenton was a welcome diversion, he thought. The parents were focused on their son and no longer wondering why he had not spoken to Honoria. The sisters, too, were at their most lovely and selfless in tending for him.

  Meanwhile, his friend Gus had changed his appearance, if not his demeanour, his cousin was to all intents and purposes wooing his prospective bride and Genevieve Sumner knew something about the attack on Benedict that the rest of them didn’t. And why had she ducked her husband in the park? Was he assisting at an adulterous liaison between that beautiful young man and a married woman for whom the description ‘plain’ might have been invented. Surely not.

  But he had no time to worry about his guests’ affairs when his own were in such a sorry tangle.

  It was all like a bad play at Vauxhall, with even the stock character of aging rogue played by Mr Wilbert Fenton. Allison laughed to himself. There seemed little else to do.

  Honoria had seen the touch that Genevieve had given her stomach. It was the same as the touch she had seen her mother give countless times, a mother’s protective touch for the child inside her. She castigated herself now, she had been so wrapped up in her own troubles that Genevieve’s obvious stress had been pushed to the back of her head, accompanied by the rather unbecoming resentment that had judged Genevieve’s upset at Benedict’s attack. A horrible thought sped through her brain, only to be dismissed. She knew, from her mother’s many months with child, that it was only really possible to know that one expected a baby after two or even three months. Benedict had been in London with her parents and herself, and for some of that time so had Lord and Lady Sumner, but she was sure she could not have seen Benedict alone. No, it was not a thought a young lady should think. But could Genevieve nevertheless be in love with Benedict? She seemed too much affected by his attack. But he had seen her but twice at Ottershaw. No, it did not add up. And then Honoria bethought herself of the lieutenant’s left ear. Perhaps the heart could be affected very quickly indeed.

  Did her uncle know something of all this? Why had he, who had spent so much time with Benedict lately, wish to speak to Lady Sumner? It was all too mysterious. But she bethought herself that while she would never discuss this with her parents (for telling tales on each other was something the elder Fenton siblings never would do) but at least it was something that she could discuss with Serena. She so longed for their old relations, but the large secret she carried had put a wedge between them. But
now, she thought, to share these thoughts with Serena would be a relief.

  In letting down the steps of the carriage, Lieutenant Prescott took her hand and helped her alight at the house. He pressed her hand and said urgently, when she was detaching her short train from the carriage step, ‘You are concerned about something Miss Fenton. Please be assured of my discretion if you should stand in need of a confidant.’

  She blushed and stared at him, looking into his handsome face. How like him to notice her worry and seek to comfort her. He was so big and strong and handsome and she could see every advantage in laying her problems on his manly breast. But to be talking of her friend or her brother to him was quite impossible. She could only whisper, ‘Thank you!’

  Serena, waiting for her at the steps to the front door raised her eyebrows. ‘What does the gallant lieutenant want with you, Honoria?’

  They entered the house and after they had ensured that Benedict was as well as they could expect, she asked Serena to come to her room.

  She poured her every fear and concern about Benedict and Genevieve into Serena’s ears and Serena listened intently. She pooh-poohed Honoria’s first thoughts about a liaison, and then she swiftly got up and found a footman to fetch Genevieve from Benedict’s room immediately.

  Honoria cried out, but Serena said bracingly, ‘You know that there are too many secrets around at the moment. It is time to have it all out. I’m guessing at what can be stopping you from marrying quite the most magnificent man we are likely to encounter-’

  ‘The lieutenant?’

  ‘No- our host! How can you not see him, Honoria? He is just the man for you. He makes me laugh so much, he is quite the handsomest-’ she stopped herself. ‘Well, it is of no use if you have fallen for his cousin, but be warned. I think you might grow tired of him.’

  ‘I have not at all. What on earth would make you think that anyone would grow tired of-’ but she stopped herself, unable to continue, conscious of all she could not say.