Honoria and the Family Obligation

by Alicia Cameron

  He already liked Dickie Fenton, but now he began to understand him, too. He was trying somehow to act on Jenny’s behalf. But did he think restoring her fortunes could be the easy answer? This showed the young gallant’s naivety: money did not shield a wife from her husband’s will. By all the laws of the land, the money would revert to him.

  Though dinner that evening was enlivened by Benedict’s presence, it was a duller-than-usual affair. His cousin the lieutenant seemed anxious and on edge; Scribster sat looking at some world as far away as his Scottish castle; Lady Sumner retired early; and Serena, who had hardly looked at him all evening, claimed her need to retire early too.

  ‘A devilish set of dull dogs!’ declared Benedict, ‘Get a card deck, for goodness sake.’

  The card table was set up near the fire, the brandy on a side table. After a couple of desultory hands, with Allison and Benedict bearing most of the conversational effort, Benedict bent forward, wincing only a little.

  ‘I think, gentlemen, that we should raise the stakes.’ Scribster raised an eyebrow. ‘But if we do, I need all of you, on your honour, to forget what occurs here this evening.

  ‘Benedict-’ warned Allison.

  But the young man, a little tipsy, had dancing eyes. ‘Don’t you trust them?’

  Allison sat back and shrugged.

  For the next few hands, Benedict won so consistently that it was perfectly obvious something was amiss. The others came to attention. With more brandy and eventual hilarity, they watched, trying to catch their young companion fuzzing the cards.

  ‘You young scoundrel, Fenton. Don’t try to join my club or I’ll have you blackballed-’ said Mr. Scribster with a laugh.

  ‘I wouldn’t-’ objected Benedict seriously.

  ‘It’s a jest,’ offered Allison helpfully.

  ‘Does he jest?’ asked Benedict.

  ‘Often mistaken for rudeness,’ said Scribster, dryly, ‘you impudent young swindler. Deal on.’

  ‘By all that’s marvellous,’ said Prescott, joyfully. ‘Could you catch others at it? I’m sure there’s a captain of the dragoons in Lisbon who’s fleecing the new recruits-’

  Over the next hour, until Allison decreed that the young ivory turner should be banished to bed, Benedict laughingly displayed his scandalous talent to his companions. He objected that it was but one of the clock and not time - but Allison directed, and there was no need to summon the footmen, for the lieutenant and Scribster lifted him in his chair and bore him raucously from the room, with Allison laughingly adjuring them not to wake the whole house.

  Honoria stirred in her bed, awoken by she knew not what. Snuggled beside her, holding on for dear life, was Serena, her sleeping cheeks stained with tears. Honoria hugged her back, not able to understand why her own tears fell on Serena’s hair, but comforted anyway by the nearness of her beloved sister.

  Chapter 22

  A Proposal

  At the first stop on her way home, Lady Cynthia, in her distraction, had sent her letter to her husband and at the second, she herself received a missive. It was from Fenton Hall and delivered by her own groom. At the inn where she had elected to spend the night, Jenkins had caused her to be disturbed as she was dressing for bed before finishing the journey on the morrow. There were many inns on the post road from London to Harrogate, but fewer who catered for Quality. Therefore, when Jenkins had been tasked with finding her ladyship on the road, he had only had to visit three other establishments before finding her.

  It was from Mrs Hall, her ladyship’s excellent housekeeper. After the prerequisite politesse, Mrs Hall’s robust voice sounded out to Lady Fenton from the paper.

  ‘… I was most distressed to hear, my lady, that Mrs Bunter took it upon herself to write to you regarding the children contracting the measles. Whilst usually a sensible woman, any form of illness in the children (as we know, my lady) seems to throw Bunter into what Mr Macleod calls her histrionic mode. That’s as may be, but if it means she is more dramatic than an actress on the stage I fear he is right. Thankfully, with such a healthy family, these little fidgets of Mrs Bunter’s are few, but in this case I was nearly brought to anger. What right has she to give you more distress, worryiting about Mr Benedict as you must be, when it is Quite Unnecessary.

  The boys are indeed covered in spots, but if making a noise and destroying their bedrooms, not to mention eating like ‘ravaging hoards’ (as Mr Macleod puts it) is anything to reckon by, I do not think there is any cause for alarm. Indeed, the spots were less today than yesterday, so they are on the mend. As for little Miss Angelica, she has thrown out only two spots and shows no inclination to throw out more, and after sleeping much for a few days, was looking bright-eyed this morning.

  I know you, my lady, and I know that you will set out for home. So I am sending Jenkins to find you on the road (on Sir Ranalph’s swiftest horse) to let you know that if you are still needed in London, you have no need to listen to Mrs Bunter’s hysterics, which I know comes from a soft heart and an excess of sensibility. All the children (as even the physician says) will very likely be out of bed within a few days…

  It was wonderful news, of course. She was perfectly sure that her phlegmatic butler Macleod and the sensible Mrs Hall were to be relied upon. Tomorrow, at break of dawn, she told Jenkins to tell the coachman and the inn landlord she would return to London, in time (she hoped) to save her girls.

  It was like Sir Ranalph that now Benedict was on the mend and he needed a place to hide, good will was restored between the brothers. Of the financial side they did not speak. Some line had been crossed there - and he could see that it had done his brother good.

  Now the baronet shared his notion - brilliantly arrived at after the fifth glass of wine - that he should instruct his daughters, since their brother did not need so much attention, to accompany each other at all times, solving the chaperone problem.

  When Countess Overton, the third member of their cosy supper party at Wilbert’s house, laughed aloud, he said defensively, ‘What amuses you, my lady?’

  Her ladyship smiled. ‘Do you think two young sisters will fail to accommodate the liaisons of lovers? Intrigue in love is a woman’s natural nature.’

  ‘Not my girls,’ said Sir Ranalph with a studied dignity.

  ‘Ranalph Fenton - did you not conspire with my sister to meet me behind the orangery at Mrs Frederick’s ball?’

  He looked sheepish - ‘Well, my dear Aurora, you were - are - quite a beauty, how could I do other?’

  ‘Stop flirting with my fiancėe,’ drawled Wilbert.

  ‘She kissed me first,’ said Sir Ranalph, in reminiscent tones.

  ‘Did you?’ his brother asked, mock shocked, at his pretty countess.

  ‘Behind the very same orangery. It was my first kiss. What heady days they were.’

  ‘So you see-’ began Sir Ranalph jovially.

  ‘But it was I who danced with you first,’ said Wilbert smugly. ‘Ranalph didn’t have the address to penetrate the hordes of admirers that surrounded you.’

  ‘Perhaps. And perhaps I helped you a little.’

  ‘You preferred my brother to me all along. I was heartbroken,’ sighed Sir Ranalph.

  The countess was wearing a pale muslin gown encrusted with crystals at her bosom and they sparkled in the candlelight nearly as brightly as her eyes. Ranalph caught a merry look between the two others and he made a discovery. Whatever this engagement was, it was not just convenience. His brother looked younger and happier than he had seen him. The countess turned to the baronet.

  ‘Your broken heart didn’t last the season, as I remember.’

  ‘No,’ said Sir Ranalph, ‘I met my lady, and that was that.’

  ‘And your papa banished Wilbert to Fenton Manor for playing too much Faro, and I was auctioned off to my count.’ Wilbert grasped her hand. ‘But I made the best of it! We were content, in our way.’

  ‘But I do believe,’ said the baronet, sipping his sixth glass of claret, ‘that my girls
will be quite safe together. I shall speak to them before breakfast and let them know my decision.’ The last he said rather pompously. When the other two laughed, he grinned however. ‘Oh, goodness. I wish Cynthia had not had to go home.’

  The hall clock chimed three as Sir Ranalph returned to Grosvenor Square. His course was set. He’d see the girls before breakfast, issue his instructions and relax - having done his fatherly duty. He thought of Aurora Overton’s amusement - but was reassured by the fact that his girls were very special. Honoria was never disobedient and Serena, well, Serena meant well.

  But he did not move the next morning as one of Mr Allison’s attentive servants entered his room and pulled the curtains open. And by the time he’d arrived at the breakfast table, Honoria had already been alone with two gentlemen. And Serena - though there was no need to worry about Serena - one other.

  The girls got ready early, strangely silent with each other, but dismissing the maid to assist each other to dress in their old way. Neither mentioned the tear-stained cheeks, merely using the jug and ewer to splash faces and eradicate the evidence. Honoria wondered at them, usually so chatty - now so full of things that they could not voice a word, except for inanities.

  Serena was still piling her curls on her head, and a little maid was helping her thread ribbon through her topknot when Honoria said, ‘My dear, I shall go down, now. I may look in on Benedict before breakfast.’

  ‘Oh, very well,’ sighed Serena, ‘I shall see downstairs, Orry.’

  But Honoria knocked on Mr Scribster’s door, just as he was opening it to leave.

  ‘Miss Fenton,’ he said, ‘good morning.’

  ‘Shall we have a walk before breakfast? I should so like to talk to you.’

  ‘This isn’t Bassington, Miss Fenton. I fear how our tête-à-tête might be seen in London, country ways are not quite permitted.’ He had closed the door as he spoke and wandered past her to the stairs.

  ‘Nonsense! No one could think that you and I-’

  Scribster turned and raised a cold eyebrow, ‘Beauty and the Beast, eh? No doubt - but nevertheless…’ His head gave a stiff little nod, which she might take as a bow if she wished. She did not.

  ‘You too reverting to the formalities?’ she laughed a little harshly, for his dismissive manner was rather too much to bear. ‘I thought that you had no truck with such things.’

  ‘Did you?’ His large dark eyes looked into hers, and a lock of hair fell over his already hooded eyes, ‘Someone must!’

  She blushed, thinking he was blaming her for her shocking behaviour in throwing herself into his arms. At the time, it was the most natural thing in the world, but now he had thought of it and-.

  ‘I understand you, I suppose,’ she said, angry but humiliated. And swept herself away from him to the stairs.

  ‘No!’ he said brokenly, so that she could not hear him, ‘Honoria!’ he said more loudly. She did not turn.

  She looked into Benedict’s room and the stench of brandy still hung over him as she bent over his unconscious form. No doubt she could guess how last night’s dinner went. Serena had told her of Benedict’s entry back into the world, and she sighed. He had surely overdone it. But the other gentlemen might have known. She left him to sleep and went to the breakfast room which was fast filling with the many essentials that Mr Allison thought necessary to the comfort of his guests. A choice of coffee, tea and chocolate, and along with the usual rolls and a selection of fruit preserves from Bassington, there were eggs and a choice of meats, as well as some small silver bowls of other strange and tempting compotes made by his French chef. Only one other man was present. Lieutenant Prescott looked so delighted to see her that she stepped back even as he moved forward. Some niggling thing about yesterday’s drive oppressed her. If he were to ask her to drive today, she would deny herself somehow.

  He moved another step and since she was backed against an elegant chair she could not well avoid him as he took her hand. She looked at the hand that held hers in amazement. Gentlemen did not do this, unless in a dance, or to hand a lady into a carriage.

  ‘I have not yet been able to talk to your father,’ he said urgently. ‘But I shall do so as soon as I can this morning.’

  ‘Talk to my father?’

  ‘I was so happy when you gave me leave. I know I have no right to speak until then-’

  Honoria looked at his passionate eyes and suddenly knew what had niggled at her all yesterday. Whilst her thoughts were otherwise, in some warm comfortable dream of her friend’s room, or on worry for Benedict, she eventually heard something of what an earnest Lieutenant Prescott had said. ‘You give me leave, then, Miss Fenton?’ And she had nodded absently, whilst a silver snake of suspicion entered the back of her head, giving her the vague feeling of doing the wrong thing. He must have talked of marriage! This couldn’t have happened. Was she engaged to yet another man - this time remembering his face at least, but completely blanking his words.

  Honoria withdrew her hand jerkily and said, ‘I must go, Lieutenant, indeed I must!’

  She met her father in the hall, pulled up short and composed herself. ‘Papa!’

  ‘Have you just been to breakfast?’

  ‘Not yet- I am just going to fetch Serena.’

  ‘Good girl. And you may tell her from me that it is my wish that you two remain together at all times today. We have been a little lax in the conventions, my girl, given our situation with Benedict, but with your mama gone there will be no more carriage rides without each other, no-’ he looked at her closely, for Honoria’s face had fallen. ‘Are you well, my dear?’

  ‘Oh yes, Papa,’ she said miserably. Could he know of her visit to Mr Scribster’s room? But no - surely he would have berated her before now. ‘I will fetch Serena-’ she said and turned swiftly.

  She heard her father enter the breakfast room and mutter an expletive. ‘Damn, forgot something…’ and shut it again.

  She looked and saw her father turn swiftly and encounter Scribster coming out of the salon that had become Benedict’s chamber. They appeared to have whispered words and her father’s voice said, ‘He’s alone now!’ and Mr Scribster made his relaxed way into the breakfast room.

  She ran to the top of the stairs, still wondering at what she’d seen and made her morning by bumping into Mr. Allison on the stairs. ‘Miss Fenton, do you not breakfast?’ said he with a light touch on her shoulders to steady her.

  ‘So sorry! Yes, I am just going to fetch my sister, sir.’

  ‘Might we talk privately today, Miss Fenton?’

  Honoria’s eyes opened wide. ‘I - my father - perhaps you should - excuse me sir -’ she grasped what dignity she could and curtsied, leaving him stranded. Not for the first time.

  She ran to her room, where Serena had just finished her toilette, the little maid curtsying as she left the room.

  ‘Whatever is the matter, Orry?’

  ‘Oh, Serena, I’ve done it again!’ and she threw herself on the bed in a passion.

  By the time she had explained herself to Serena, her sister had thrown herself on the bed next to her and she stopped crying and began to join her in laughing.

  ‘Oh, Orry! If that isn’t just like you - if your head is otherwise, you cannot hear a thing that is said,’ Serena mopped her eyes with a wisp of lace that served as a handkerchief. ‘Oh how ridiculous - wait till Dickie hears-’

  That made Honoria sit up. ‘You would not!’

  Serena laughed, ‘Now how can you be so unkind, my dear sister? The poor boy deserves to be cheered up after his great trials. It will be just the thing to set him up again!’ she looked at Honoria with a wicked light in her eye. ‘One suitor whose face you failed to remember and another a handsome nodcock who you agreed to marry without hearing.’ This seemed to set her off again and she slid off the silken coverlet all the way to the floor, still laughing.

  ‘He is not a nodcock! Lieutenant Prescott is handsome and noble and-’

  ‘You cannot be in love with
him! Why, if his horse were to throw a splint and limp he’d very likely think it was a dressage step.’

  Honoria’s eyes flashed. ‘Believe it or not, Serena, knowledge of horse flesh is not the only quality necessary for a future spouse.’

  Serena considered this. ‘Not the only quality, but surely indispensable all the same. But you cannot wish to - his only conversation is of balls he’s attended in Lisbon, or - I mean he must have bored you so much today that you just nodded off and missed the part where he proposed. You don’t love him do you?’

  Honoria, wringing her hands, said, ‘What does it matter what I think? I cannot think of marriage when Dickie is laid up - I, I-’

  ‘You cannot prefer him to-’ Serena stopped herself. There had been some of the sisterly joy together when Orry confessed herself in yet another scrape. She didn’t wish to enter the other place of unsaid things that seemed to be keeping them apart. So she jumped to her feet and said, ‘Just wait till Benedict hears!’ and began to run from the room with Honoria at her heels, saying ‘Serena, stop!’ but Serena ran towards Benedict’s room.

  Genevieve called, ‘Honoria!’

  ‘Jenny?’ Honoria was surprised at her friend’s appearance. She wore a grey muslin gown that she recognised as her best before she had become her ladyship. It was simple and slim, made high at the neck with only the smallest embellishment of her grandmama’s necklace, a handsome tear-shaped ruby on a chain. Her hair was piled on her head in a relaxed style, a simple ribbon threaded through. A few curls had been allowed to escape by an expert hand instead of its usual escaped bird’s nest. Neat and tidy. Her eyes were a little strained but resolved. She looked so much more like herself than in the unbecoming fashions of Lady Sumner that Honoria hugged her. She would never be pretty, but Honoria did not value beauty much and she admired her enormously.

  ‘Have you breakfasted?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Bear me company, my dear. I have to slay a dragon today and I fear I am in need of sustenance.’