“Edward? Goodness, this is a surprise.” She offered her cheek for a kiss, then turned to the mirror to straighten her hat. “It can’t be above two weeks since we last saw each other. What has brought you to me again so soon? Or have you come to see your brother?”
“No, it’s you I seek, Mama. I have a matter I wish to discuss with you. Can you delay your outing?”
She eyed him keenly. “How could I not, when curiosity has rendered me breathless?”
Edward piled his hat, gloves, and cane into the footman’s broad arms and followed his mother up the sweeping staircase to the drawing room. Another tall footman opened the white gilt-trimmed door. After his mother seated herself in one of a pair of blue, cabriole-legged wing chairs facing the white marble fireplace, he took the other one.
“Would you care for something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I shan’t keep you above a few minutes.”
She settled her skirts around her and nodded at him to continue.
Edward got right to the point and asked her what she knew about Honor’s London Season.
His mother’s green eyes, which famous artists had enthusiastically captured on canvas in her youth, took on a speculative expression. “What is your interest in Honor?”
“She is my client.”
“Your client?” She raised her eyebrows. “Ladies do not consult solicitors unless they have a very good reason.”
He ignored her subtle invitation for the particulars. “I wish to know more about Lady Honor’s one and only Season. I was away at Oxford and know nothing of it. Do you remember?”
“I have not yet developed senility, my dear.” She drummed gloved fingers on the arm of the chair. “When was it? Now let me see, Honor’s first Season coincided with Sibella’s,” she mused. “If you remember, the Baxendales first came to live next door after Honor’s mother married his lordship.”
“They married soon after Amberwell’s death?”
“Yes. Baxendale was a good friend of Amberwell’s. Honor’s mother became quite frail after Amberwell’s demise. Some expressed the opinion that Baxendale’s marrying her was an act of compassion. But she was very beautiful, a delicate, fair woman with violet eyes. I believe some of her daughters take after her.” She raised her eyebrows. “Let’s hope they have more spirit.”
“I believe Lady Honor to be quite spirited.”
“Indeed?” Her sharp eyes rested on him. “Honor has her father’s coloring—he was a handsome man—but her mother’s delicate bone structure. At eight, she was known to be a wild child, and I saw her once, riding furiously about the estate. I didn’t quite see her as wild; she reminded me of a homeless kitten. Honor did settle down, however, and she has grown into an attractive young woman. We expected her to marry well, and she might have, had she not fallen foul of one man in particular.”
“Who was he?”
She signaled for the footman to leave the room. “Why are you digging up all this?” she asked when they were alone.
He didn’t like that approving light in her eye. His mother was too wise a lady to push him too far, but her interest was piqued. “Is there something to dig up?”
“The matter was hushed up remarkably well by Baxendale at the time.”
He quirked a brow. “What matter?”
She fiddled with a jet earring. “I can’t be entirely sure of the truth of it, Edward.”
“Would you kindly tell me anyway?”
“Very well, but don’t scowl at me, my dear. I know I can rely on your discretion. Viscount Stenhouse’s son, Richard, sought Honor out at every social event. After he danced with her several times at Almack’s, everyone believed an offer would follow, but something went awry.”
“You don’t know precisely what?” His frustration made his voice gruff.
“Richard was an unspeakable rake,” she said dismissively. “His grandfather had been a member of that fearful Hell Fire Club in his youth, and Richard was no better. Your father heard…” she lowered her voice, “…that Richard had lulled Honor into an indiscretion.”
He gripped the arms of his chair. “How serious an indiscretion, Mama?”
“If it wasn’t rape, it came very close to it. Your father was vague about the details; men are so annoying about such things. They think we women are too delicate to handle the truth! And we are the ones who give birth,” she said with an annoyed shrug. “According to your father, Honor was not the first green girl Richard had ravaged.”
“Bloody scoundrel,” Edward spat out.
Her lips twisted in wry amusement. “My dear, that’s a heated reaction for something that happened years ago. You obviously have some feelings for her. You say Honor is merely your client?”
“I am sorry for her and would feel that way about any woman,” he said, aware he had to be careful. “Imagine if it were Sibella or Maria.”
“I shudder to think. But my girls were well guarded against such impropriety.”
Edward knew otherwise, but he held his tongue. His sisters had confessed their romantic adventures to him. This was not a few stolen kisses, however; it was far worse. Staring up at the mammoth glass chandelier, he fancied a red mist blocked his vision as the shock of what had happened to Honor yielded to fury.
“Richard’s father, the viscount, got wind of it,” his mother said, drawing him back. “He bought Richard a pair of colors in the Guards. He was killed soon after, at Waterloo.”
“A fitting end,” he said, rancor sharpening his voice.
So that was why Honor never wanted to marry. Her mistrust of men was understandable. Why would her stepfather, knowing what she had endured, insist she must? Aware that his mother watched him, he uncurled his fingers, which kept forming into fists. Baxendale thought of Honor as spoiled goods and was forcing her to marry a monster.
“Edward?” His shrewd mother had her eager gaze on him. “I can’t see how any of this could be of help to you. Unless Lady Honor plans to approach Richard’s father for some kind of compensation, but after all this time…”
“No, she doesn’t, Mama.” First Sibella and now Mother! He was barely a match for this wily pair. He must take his leave before she pried the truth from him.
“Stenhouse may well have been agreeable at one time,” she said. “After Richard was killed, he placed a notice in the Times stating that Richard was to marry Honor on his return, but was sadly lost in battle, etc. etc. I suspect the young Baxendale girls have been shielded from the complete truth.”
“So Lady Honor has had to bear this alone,” he muttered.
His comment brought another speculative gleam in his mother’s eyes. “Yes, I doubt her mother is of much help. A browbeaten woman if ever there was one. I was impressed with Honor last time I saw her. An intelligent gel with no airs and graces.” She nodded at him with a small smile. “I would like to see her happy.”
At his mother’s hopeful tone, Edward speedily gained his feet and bowed. “As I expected, you’ve been of great assistance, Mama. Allow me to escort you to your carriage.”
Chapter Seven
Lord Baxendale cleared his throat as the covers for the first course were served in the dining room. “We leave for Cornwall in the morning. We have been invited to visit Morven Hall.”
Honor stiffened. Aghast, she looked at her stepfather, who sat at the head of the table. His ruddy face had a haughty cast, and his tone was emphatic. He had broken his promise.
He glanced away from her accusing eyes. “When a duke requires our presence, we do not refuse.”
Her mother gave a mew of protest. “My dear, we need to prepare. Honor’s new gowns have not arrived.” She clutched her hands. “I don’t know what she will wear.”
He took up his spoon and attacked the mushroom soup. “Honor has a good riding habit?”
“Well, yes…but…”
“She presents best on a horse,” her stepfather said dismissively. “And Morven is a keen rider.”
Faith cast Honor an angui
shed glance.
Chilled to her very marrow, Honor stared at her soup. She could not force a morsel down her throat. Silence descended as they ate. Dinner seemed interminably long before they finally left their father to his port. As soon as the door closed behind them, her mother grabbed Honor’s arm and dragged her to her bedchamber.
She went through Honor’s wardrobe, tut-tutting with distress.
Honor was relieved that her perfectly lovely raspberry gown lay unfinished on the dressmaker’s table. She did not want to look even remotely seductive. This trip had completely thrown her plans out of kilter. She had hoped Edward would have her money and that she could proceed before marriage to Morven entered the equation. Fate had turned against her.
****
When Lady Honor failed to reply to Edward’s note, he went in search of her, roaming from a musicale to a soirée. However, none of the Baxendales made an appearance.
On the following day, he accepted an important libel case—the Marquess of Nancarrow was suing his cousin for defamation of character. The case gave him the chance to show his mettle and brought him closer to being called to the bar. When he finally drew breath, another day had passed. He uneasily tried to set his mind at rest with the thought that at least Lady Honor could not proceed without him, for he held the stake.
He dined with friends and attended the opera, but left soon after, their chortles and accusations that he was romantically entwined echoing in his ears. Edward could not put his friends straight without giving away a confidence, so he took their friendly teasing on the chin and went to hail a hackney. An early night would be advantageous for the busy day ahead.
The next day, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate, Lady Honor’s whereabouts intrigued him. Might her plan have been discovered and her father taken her back to the country? He should be relieved, but he couldn’t settle down to work. Somehow, he doubted Honor would have given herself away. She would make a splendid spy. At luncheon, he sought out friends who might know where the Baxendales had gone, without success.
After another evening spent in fruitless inquiry, he arrived at his office to be greeted at the door by his assiduous clerk, who had become alarmed at his tardiness. “The libel case, my lord—some important letters await your attention. One has arrived from the King’s Counsel, Sir Anthony Smyth.”
“Thank you, Roland.”
After staring at the letters before him for most of the afternoon, Edward tossed down his pen. He rose and stepped into the outer office, grabbing his hat off the hat stand. “I shall be gone for the rest of the day.”
Roland’s eyes widened. He scratched his head with his pencil. “But my lord, the libel case goes to trial in just three weeks.”
Surprised himself, Edward waved his brass-topped cane in the direction of his open-mouthed clerk as he walked out the door. “We’ll get things done, never fear.”
Edward was normally a stickler for dealing with any legal matters promptly to clear his mind for the next. He hated anything to drag on unnecessarily. This case was a golden opportunity for the advancement of his career. He paused in the street and banged his cane against an iron railing, angry at himself and, somewhat unfairly, at Lady Honor. Where the devil was she?
He took a hackney to Mayfair, where he found the knocker gone from the door of Baxendale’s home in Adam’s Row. Had Baxendale removed the family to the country?
Edward drank a tankard of ale with an acquaintance, Thomas Warne, in the Seven Stars, a hotel near Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Thomas knew Lord Baxendale through some business endeavor and identified the Baxendales’ direction. The news unnerved Edward. The family had traveled down to Cornwall to attend a house party at the Duke of Morven’s home.
Edward’s gut tightened with anger. So Honor was to be sacrificed on the altar of her stepfather’s ambition, to no less than the appalling Duke of Morven.
“I am about to leave on the morrow for the Morven estate myself,” Thomas said. “On a matter of business.”
“Would you mind if I came along?” he asked. He could finish this matter with Lady Honor without fear of discovery. Moreover, he wasn’t keen on such a rakish fellow as Warne residing in the same house as the Baxendale girls. Warne was all very well and good as an entertaining, if dissolute, acquaintance, but Edward wouldn’t let him loose around a daughter of his.
An inquisitive light brightened Thomas’s hazel eyes. “But of course. The duke won’t turn a Brandreth away. I don’t know why you’d want to visit Morven’s inhospitable Gothic pile, though. Is it the hunting and fishing that attracts?”
“I wish to get out of Town for a while,” Edward said, not prepared to elaborate. “That is, if you can stand my company.”
“Ho! More than delighted, my friend,” Thomas said. “Good to have you. It’s a dashed lengthy and boring trip.”
Edward shoved away his uneasy thoughts. He would have to distract his clerk, Roland, with another matter. Had he lost his mind? Very few such cases came Edward’s way, and they would be a great asset when it came time for him to consider his application for senior counsel.
Reaching Cornwall in the mid-afternoon days later, Edward had grown tired of Thomas’s discourse. Thomas appeared to see everything, and possibly everyone, through the prism of his own ambition. Edward was intensely relieved when their carriage entered the gates of Morven Hall.
As the carriage trundled up the drive, Edward spied a burial plot of ancient gravestones through the trees. Around a bend, the duke’s forbidding granite manor appeared, set in a large park. Trees encroached on three sides of the house, and moss grew over the stone walls where the sun failed to reach. Edward climbed out and looked around. He suspected the ancestors still roamed here, for the old house had a ghostly ambiance.
Dressed for riding, Morven greeted them in the chilly, echoing Great Hall, the infamous whip in hand. Edward suspected his thin frame hid a wiry strength. He had never liked the man. It wasn’t just the tattle that went the rounds, it was the fellow himself. His mouth had a cruel cast, which made Edward suppress a shudder when he thought of Honor.
“Knew your father,” the duke said with a thin smile. “A Brandreth is always welcome in my home.”
“Good of you, Your Grace. I am keen to visit your stable. I’ve heard of your excellent bloodstock.”
“Indeed. Please ride at your convenience. I see you haven’t brought your valet. A footman will help you dress. I am riding with Lady Honor this afternoon. Want to show her some of the estate. I shall join you at dinner.”
Where was Honor’s stepfather? Did he allow her to ride alone with the duke? Appalled, Edward was keen to gain his room and change. He would see how the land lay. If Honor didn’t wish him to be here, so be it; he would finish their business transaction and leave. But until then, he’d keep a sharp eye out for anything untoward.
Morven clapped his hands. A small black page in a white wig scurried from behind a curtain. “Take the gentlemen to their suites.”
The boy, swamped in his satin regalia, looked to be no more than ten years old. He bowed and led them up the winding stone staircase with his small head lowered. At the landing, a shaft of light filtered through a lancet window, but did little to penetrate the gloom.
Ornate walnut furniture darkened with age crammed every corner of the bedroom. Edward suspected it had come from Spain several centuries ago. He opened his bag and hurriedly threw off his clothes. He was dressed and tying a fresh cravat when a footman arrived to assist him.
Grabbing his hat and riding crop, he headed for the stables.
Chapter Eight
Hot and prickly from the duke’s constant scrutiny, Honor dropped her mount back to follow his horse as they picked their way along a woodland path. They burst out of the trees to a vista of sea and sky.
Morven reined in beside her. “Shall we dismount?”
The sea breeze swirled around her, the soaring cliffs merely yards away. She held her flapping skirts with nervous fingers, unnerved by
how much Morven had whipped his horse.
His gaze ran over her from head to toe, as if he judged her weight, before he lifted her down. “A woman should not merely look good on a horse, Lady Honor. She should be able to ride with skill. And I must say you do.” His strong hands dug into her waist. She couldn’t breathe as fearful memories she’d fought to banish assailed her. She swallowed her panic and resisted the urge to shove him away.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” She left him to step closer to the cliff edge and gazed out over the wind-ruffled, foam-flecked sea where a couple of Cornish choughs, satin black, soared and dipped.
The duke took her arm and drew her away. “Not too close, my lady. We don’t want to lose you.”
She wished he wouldn’t touch her. One inappropriate gesture, and she might jump. Better to fall to her death on the rocks below than suffer a half-dead existence with this man.
“Let us walk awhile,” he said, his voice gruff. “Get to know each other. I miss feminine company since my dear wife died.” He cast her a sideways glance. “But if I didn’t know better, I would suspect you have been avoiding me since you came here.”
“I pray I haven’t appeared rude, Your Grace.” Her mind sorted possible excuses that wouldn’t annoy him. His displeasure would anger her stepfather. After refusing Honor’s request to join them on the ride, Father had taken her mother and Faith to Tintagel for the afternoon. “I am enjoying your magnificent estate.”
“It is very fine, is it not?” A smile hovered on his thin lips. “Every time I travel, I return with renewed fondness. I enjoy the isolation. One can do whatever one pleases here.” He gave her another hard stare. “There is little society to censure one.”
The path ahead led deep into the trees. Honor’s distress made her knees wobble. It wasn’t entirely an act when she lost her footing and stumbled. She hopped on one foot. “Goodness, how careless of me! I believe I’ve turned my ankle.”
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