Lady Honor's Debt

by Maggi Andersen

  “If you kept still, Faith, you would not get pricked,” her mother said.

  Faith fussed with the dainty white lace robe edged with pearls. “What do you think, Honor?”

  “Very pretty. It suits you to perfection.”

  Her mother glanced sideways at her. “Where have you been, Honor?”

  “I couldn’t resist a visit to the museum. I rarely get a chance.”

  “Oh, what did you see?” Faith could never keep still for long and now scratched her knee.

  “Please do be still, my lady,” the modiste said through a mouthful of pins.

  As Honor had popped into the museum for a few minutes to lend legitimacy to her claim, she was able to give a decent account of the latest exhibits.

  “Did you take your maid with you?” her mother asked.

  “Yes. I’ve sent her home.”

  “I do so want to see the Egyptian exhibit,” Faith said. “I saw pictures in a book. It looked so mysterious, it made me shiver.”

  “Then we shall spend an afternoon there,” Honor said. “We have an entire Season to enjoy the delights of the town.”

  Her mother swept her gaze over Honor, a look of despair in her blue eyes. “We’ll dress you next, Honor.”

  “Has Father agreed for me to have a new gown?” Honor asked.

  “But of course. You think so little of your stepfather?”

  Honor dropped her gaze to her hands. “It’s just that he has so many expenses, Mama.” She refrained from adding that his stepdaughter usually came at the very end of the long list.

  “Well, he has agreed to several costumes. You shall need clothes for your trousseau. What sort of evening dress would suit Lady Honor, Madame Chevalle?”

  Madam Chevalle’s black eyes flicked over her and registered disapproval. “She should never wear that color.” She shook her dark head. “It does nothing for ’er.”

  “I know,” her mother said in a despairing tone. “My daughter would insist on it. She dresses so plainly.”

  “I shall make her a walking dress like Lady Faith’s of jaconet muslin, but with a cherry-red velvet spencer. Because Lady Honor is older and has darker coloring, she may wear a richer color in the evening, êtes-vous d’accord?”

  “Oh, yes,” her mother said warming to the theme. “But not too garish. Something pretty like Faith’s gown, to show off her coloring. Honor has lovely dark hair and eyes.”

  “Oh, how biased you are, dear Mama.” Honor leaned over and kissed her cheek.Madame Chevalle rushed from the room. She returned moments later with a bolt of machine-embroidered primrose silk gauze. “It will be scalloped at the hem, with an underdress of white satin.” She draped the cloth over Honor’s shoulder and placed her hands at Honor’s waist. “The bodice will be tight to emphasize her excellent figure, which, Lady Honor, you should show off, oui?”

  Honor fondled the material, which was as light as a cobweb. It was not right at all for her scheme. “I would prefer crimson velvet or silk.”

  Her mother’s jaw dropped. “Crimson?”

  Madame Chevalle’s dark eyes lit from within. “Ah, yes! I have just the thing.”

  She carried in a bolt of raspberry silk. It wasn’t crimson, but it was as close to crimson as Honor would get, judging by her mother’s face.

  ****

  In Edward’s office, young Mr. Hoskin, a long-faced fellow with serious grey eyes, took the chair opposite Edward and removed his notebook from his coat pocket, releasing the smell of camphor. Old Mr. Hoskin had passed away many years previously. His son, Alfred Hoskin, was older than fifty but still keen. He often went to great lengths to get his man. Clearing his throat, he glanced at his notes. “Mr. Leighton has a townhouse in London,” he said. “He is a widower with one child, a son. He keeps company with a Letitia Hanbury of Covent Garden. Miss Hanbury accompanies Leighton to the races, and I must say, my lord,” he paused and shook his head, eyebrows raised, “last Saturday, that lady swore like her namesake, Lettie Lade. Made my ears throb to hear her! Leighton keeps a country house in Oxfordshire. I’m told he frequents the Tattersall horse auctions in Hyde Park Corner, but never bids. Considers himself a good judge of horseflesh but prefers to bet on horses rather than own them. He takes luncheon every day at the Lamb and Flag in Covent Garden…”

  “His clubs?” Leighton sounded better left alone. Edward tightened his lips, uneasy at the prospect of Lady Honor having dealings with the man in any capacity.

  The private investigator licked a finger and flipped several pages. “He is a member of several gentlemen’s clubs, but prefers a private establishment in Stratford Place. It’s run by a nobleman—Lord Bellwood, I believe.”

  “I know of it. Please continue.”

  Hoskin sat back with a nod of satisfaction. “A keen gamester, it would appear. He’s a regular at Bellwood’s every Saturday evening. In fact, he visited that club twice during the week. Last night he departed the premises at two o’clock, had a carriage waiting. I followed him to a brothel in a lane adjacent to Bow Street.” Hoskin looked up. “I have the name should you need it.” When Edward shook his head, he continued. “This morning, I returned to the club and was able to question a member of the staff. Leighton won close to a thousand pounds the night before. A punter complained that he’d cheated, but as the punter was seen to be a bad loser, no one acted upon it.” Hoskin placed a hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn. “Not a man of moderate habits is Leighton. I’ve barely scraped the surface, my lord. I suspect there will be matters of great interest to be unearthed, given time.”

  Edward leaned back in his chair, crossed his foot over his knee, and tapped his boot. “You’ve done well, Mr. Hoskin, extremely well. I may require your services at a later date, but this is enough for now. My clerk will pay your bill.”

  After Mr. Hoskin left, Edward sat twirling his pen in his fingers. Should he give this information to Lady Honor? He couldn’t see the harm in it. She could hardly enter the club and take Leighton on. If the man was a consummate cheat, it was just as well. He hoped she would lose her nerve and let the matter rest.

  Edward drew a piece of vellum from his desk drawer, dipped his pen in the inkwell, paused, and laid the pen down again. He needed to see Lady Honor. He could explain the situation better if he spoke to her in person. Gain her reaction. Even so, a meeting was precarious in itself. He would have to be discreet. No sense in letting her stepfather get wind of it. He was a man with a difficult manner and not popular in the City, by all accounts.

  Chapter Four

  The strains of a Mozart opera melody faded as the quadrille ended. When the four couples disbanded, Honor, with a tiny sigh of relief, took Lord MacKinley’s arm and allowed him to escort her from the floor. His lordship’s Scottish accent was almost indecipherable, and he tended to aim incoherent sentences at her when they came together during the dance.

  “Do you agree, Lady Honor?” Lord MacKinley asked as they negotiated their way through the throng to where her Mama sat amongst the other ladies keen to see their daughters married well. Honor feared MacKinley had marriage on his mind and wished to drag her off to some drafty Scottish castle, never to see her family again.

  “I must apologize, my lord. The ballroom is so noisy I couldn’t hear a word you said. I’m a trifle deaf. I fear I take after my grandmother,” she said, without a twinge of shame. “She was deaf as a post at forty.” Lord MacKinley’s mouth slackened. He recovered himself and made a hasty bow. “A’m so sairy, Lady Honor,” he said raising his voice. “I wasna aware of yer affliction. It canna be easy for yer.”

  As he melted back into the crowd, Honor glanced skywards with a murmured apology. But if she was honest, her grandmother had been hard of hearing, and cantankerous with it.

  Honor’s gaze swept the room, searching in vain for Edward Winborne. Over a week had passed since she’d rustled up enough courage to consult him. She was still unsure if he would help her. No note had come from him, nor had he appeared at the soirée or the card par
ty she had attended. Neither had Mr. Leighton, so she remained dependent upon Lord Edward for information. It was unfortunate indeed that Leighton did not move in the same circles.

  Time was growing short. The only way Honor could get her stepfather to change his mind about Faith’s marriage to Gillingham was for Honor to consider a possible union with the Duke of Morven. Her stepfather was greatly pleased with her, perhaps for the first time in her life, and planned to begin correspondence with the duke’s secretary. It was common knowledge that after the aged duke’s wife had died childless, Morven was casting around for a bride.

  What Honor remembered of him wasn’t promising. He had appraised her through his lorgnette with close-set, small dark eyes. She begged her stepfather not to do anything further until the end of the Season. At the prospect of ridding himself of a stubborn stepdaughter and joining the Baxendales to a titled family of immense wealth in one fell swoop, he’d agreed.

  The hot, smoky air in the ballroom smelled of perspiration and perfume. Ravishing in her new gown, Faith had been surrounded by partners and had danced every dance. She confessed to Honor that one impertinent gentleman had likened her to a scrumptious frosted cake he wanted to nibble on. Impertinent indeed! Honor would have stamped on his foot. Faith merely laughed, caught up in the excitement of the moment. She was a new face on the scene and quite the prettiest girl in the ballroom tonight. As soon as she left the floor, men buzzed around her like a swarm of bees around a rosebush.

  Honor feared Faith would fall in love swiftly and with lifelong devotion to the most unsuitable amongst them. By distracting their father’s attention away from Faith, at least she would free her stepsister to marry the man of her choice. It made perfect sense; after all, the best of Honor’s youth lay behind her.

  As Honor sat with her mother, a tall, dark-haired man fought his way through the throng. Was it Edward Winborne? When she had removed her glasses for a better look, he had disappeared behind a column.

  “I don’t know why you insist on wearing those, Honor.” Her mother fanned herself furiously. “You see perfectly well without them. Better, in fact, as you’re doing now. You hide behind them merely to scare all the gentlemen away. My dear,” she said, beseechingly, “I did hope as the years passed…”

  “Mama, please, this is not the place to discuss it.”

  Honor didn’t like making her mother unhappy, but the glasses had protected her from the world for so long, she found she couldn’t give them up now.

  “I hope you will seriously consider marrying Morven. You turn twenty-seven in August,” her mother continued, “If you don’t marry, you’ll become an ape-leader, a spinster aunt to your sister’s children. I daresay that is your aim?”

  Her mother was at the mercy of her stepfather’s moods; did she really wish the same for Honor? She hated how married women were forced to put their husbands’ needs over those of their children. Her mother’s description of an unmarried lady did cause Honor misgivings. There was a time when she had hoped for children of her own. Now, she would never allow a man to have that kind of power over her. As a green girl in her first Season, imagining herself deeply in love with Viscount Stenhouse’s son, Richard, she had placed her trust in him. One kiss, he had promised, as he led her into a shadowy corner of Lady Taylor’s garden. Richard had betrayed her in the most heartless fashion.

  Living alone was more attractive than marrying Morven, who could possibly be an even worse tyrant than her stepfather. Men could do what they wished, and no one would stop them. She had made her plan and would stick to it. When she had the money, she could keep some for herself and live the kind of life she wished, exactly where she chose to live it. She had her eye on a pretty cottage set in a charming garden, up for sale in a village not far from her family’s home. Close enough to visit, far away enough to avoid her stepfather. She would have her cat, Misty, for company, grow vegetables, and enjoy her books. A few chickens, too, now that she thought about it, and perhaps a pig. Honor settled her glasses back on her nose as Lord Edward bowed before them, causing her heart to beat madly. She was by no means blind to his virile appeal, with or without her glasses.

  “Lord Edward, how nice to see you again.” Her mother sounded pleased that an acceptable gentleman showed an interest in Honor when all the beaus were clustered around Faith. She would be downhearted to learn his interest in Honor was purely business.

  After exchanging pleasantries with her mother, Edward turned to her. “May I have the next waltz, Lady Honor?”

  “I’d be delighted, my lord.” She stood.

  How handsome Edward looked tonight. His black superfine suit emphasized his jet-black hair, and the white silk cravat at his throat highlighted his eyes, which seemed a softer, more convivial green than she remembered. She was glad of her smart ball gown. Although it was an altered one of her mother’s, the silk was a lovely shade of bronze and was trimmed with old lace.

  Edward smiled down at her as he guided her over the floor. “I planned to send you a letter, but I thought you might attend the ball tonight. Safer to discuss it here, rather than send it, don’t you agree?”

  His touch upset her balance and made it difficult to think. “Yes, indeed.”

  Edward’s firm hand settled lower, against the small of her back, and she breathed the scents of fresh linens and sandalwood soap. Suddenly aware of his size, she could feel the strength of him as he guided her around the floor. Her heart began to beat with the pulse of the music. She must guard her emotions; such an attraction could be perilous. “What have you learned?” she asked, fighting to stay focused.

  “Nothing of possible use to you.”

  She frowned as reality intruded. “You’d best let me be the judge of that.”

  Edward huffed out a sigh. “Meet me on the terrace after supper.” He gave a sideways glance at the couples dancing near them. “I have brought the information with me.”

  “I must thank you.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “I’m sure you must be inundated with more important matters.”

  He dipped his head slightly. “I never think of business when I dance with a lovely lady.”

  Her answer was a rapid thud of her pulse. She had not expected flattery from him and was disconcerted by it. Edward’s long legs brushed against her skirts as they waltzed. She dropped her gaze to his ivory silk waistcoat, hoping her cheeks would cool.

  “Do you really have to wear those?”

  She stiffened and raised her chin. “My glasses?”

  “You have pretty eyes, has no one ever told you?”

  “When I was young, perhaps.”

  “Young?” He smiled. “You are hardly in your dotage.”

  “I am hardly an ingénue.”

  He gazed at her quizzically. “Did you lose a beau during the war? Many ladies suffered the loss of a loved one at Napoleon’s hand.”

  “You are inquisitive, my lord,” she said defensively. “When I employed your services I did not request that you searched into my past.”

  His hand tightened around her gloved fingers. “Is your past so very dreadful that you don’t wish to volunteer even a little of it?”

  She fought to gain some composure. “It has been entirely uneventful for the most part. I would not like to bore you. The future is more important, is it not?”

  “One always hopes so. But you are a bit of mystery, Lady Honor.”

  “Not one to be solved, my lord.”

  He showed a genuine interest in her, and she wished he wouldn’t. She would rather have his businesslike manner than this. Wanting the dance over, she followed his steps, her mouth set primly, in the hope the conversation was at an end.

  Honor was relieved when they left the floor. “I’ll be on the terrace after supper, my lord. I shan’t keep you overlong. You need merely hand me your notes.”

  He bowed. “As you wish, Lady Honor.”

  Edward left her with her mother, and the chattering crowd quickly closed around hi
m.

  “Well,” her mother said. “That was a surprise. If Lord Edward is interested in pursuing you, your stepfather might dismiss the duke’s suit.”

  “The third son of a marquess, without title or estates? I don’t think so.” Honor’s voice had a bitter edge.

  “Really, Honor, your stepfather is not an ogre. If only you would apply yourself, you have so much to offer.” Her mother shook her head and sighed.

  Honor firmed her lips on a reply. She would never understand why her mother defended her stepfather when he made her so miserable.

  After supper, Honor excused herself to go to the withdrawing room. A lady had engaged her mother in conversation, but she would become suspicious if Honor was away for long. Beyond the flickering candlelight, the terrace was bathed in shadow, the air considerably fresher than in the ballroom. Several couples strolled about, enjoying the unseasonably warm spring night, the air perfumed with blossom. At the far corner, in deeper shadow, Lord Edward waited, his arms resting on the stone balustrade as he gazed down into the garden.

  He straightened when she approached. “I believe I heard a nightingale.”

  “How fortunate,” Honor said. She was a keen bird-watcher herself.

  “Wasn’t it? I was tempted to enter the gardens in pursuit of it.”

  “And then you remembered your business with me. I am sorry.” The mere thought of pursuing the bird through the moonlit gardens with him heated her cheeks. Honor was surprised to be so tempted, but she was no longer so reckless. She needn’t have worried, however, for he didn’t invite her to join him.

  His gaze searched her face. “I don’t consider this less of a pleasure, I assure you.”

  He was charming tonight. It made her suspicious. Was he going to oppose her scheme outright, threaten to stop her? Could she trust him not to tell her stepfather? She hoped she was not mistaken in his character. There was something more she wished to ask of him.