But now she had only to look at the duke flirting expertly with the outrageous Lady Dacey to guess that he deserved every bit of his reputation, and so she refused her first partner and therefore was left free to sit quietly in a corner with Mr. Delaney.
“Faith, this changes things,” said Mr. Delaney, nodding in the direction of the duke and Lady Dacey. “I can only hope your young friend is heartfree.”
“I am sure she is,” replied Pamela.
But Honoria found she was disturbed by the return of her aunt. The short time she had spent with the duke, Mr. Delaney, and Pamela had kept her protected and innocent of the darker side of society. Lady Dacey and the duke seemed to share a world of wicked experience that she did not know and did not want to know. She realized with a little shock that she was once more under authority—that marriage was her duty. With a new ease she had acquired since she first came to London, however, she chatted to her partners and tried to block the duke from her mind. When she eventually found him standing before her asking for a dance, she blinked at him as if trying to bring him into focus.
“A waltz,” he said, smoothly guiding her steps. “We should always dance the waltz together, you and I. Our steps match so well. Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I am delighted you have found a soul mate.”
He held her hand more tightly and smiled down at her. “I am glad you have noticed it.”
“I think all must notice how well you and my aunt get along together.”
For one moment, his eyes darkened with anger and his clasp on her hand loosened. Then he gave a light laugh and said, “Lady Dacey is certainly amusing.”
He looked across the ballroom. Lady Dacey was not dancing. She was talking to Lord Herne, not in her usual flirtatious way, but intently, seriously. He thought with a stab of alarm that it looked like a business meeting and hoped Honoria was not the trade they were dealing in. But then, what was this innocent girl to him? It had amused him, surely nothing else, to take her about. Now that Lady Dacey had returned, there was no need for him to do more. He could return to his own life.
When they promenaded after the waltz was over, Honoria found she was waiting for him to make some arrangement to see her again. He usually suggested something—a call, a drive in the park, a night at the opera—but as her next partner approached, he merely bowed and turned on his heel, leaving her feeling strangely flat.
She tried not to watch him, tried not to notice that he asked Lady Dacey for a second dance, or that this time, whatever he was saying to Lady Dacey was putting her in a bad mood. After that dance with Lady Dacey, she saw him stopping to exchange a few words with Pamela and Mr. Delaney, and then he left the ballroom.
He had served his purpose, she told herself firmly, trying to feel worldly-wise. He had done his best to bring her into fashion. But after she curtsied to her partner, she saw Lady Dacey approaching with Lord Herne and felt that as the duke had warned her against this man, he should have stayed to protect her.
“I am delighted you have already made the acquaintance of my good friend, Lord Herne,” said Lady Dacey. “Herne begs a dance with you.”
Honoria stifled a sigh and curtsied. All these curtsies, bobbing up and down all evening when all she wanted to do was go home.
It was another waltz. So much for the fickle duke saying they should always waltz together. Lord Herne danced very well. She glanced up at him fleetingly. She supposed he could be accounted handsome, although his brooding, rather reptilian stare was a trifle unnerving.
After this dance, supper was served and Lord Herne escorted her to the supper room and sat beside her. “Are you enjoying your first Season?” he asked.
“Yes, very much,” replied Honoria politely.
“It will be your first and your last.”
“Why so?”
“With your beauty, you will be engaged to be married by the end of it ... or perhaps before it has begun.”
“You flatter me, my lord.”
He took a little painted chicken-skin fan out of his pocket and waved it languidly in the air. “Not I. You have beauty to break hearts. You are fortunate to have such a sterling lady as Lady Dacey to bring you out.”
“Lady Dacey is all that is kind.”
“Lady Dacey has your best interests at heart. Perhaps she has not yet warned you about Ware.”
“There is nothing to warn me about. His Grace was merely being kind to someone considerably younger than he,” said Honoria with rare malice, judging Lord Herne to be about the same age as the duke.
“Ware is never kind. He pursues women and then leaves them. Ah, his poor mistress, cruelly abandoned.”
“I am sure his lawyers arranged an adequate settlement,” snapped Honoria. “Such is usually the case, although I am sure you have more knowledge of such matters than I.”
“My dear Miss Goodham, allow me to be your guide. One does not mention such subjects in polite society.”
“Then in future, my lord, I suggest you do not bring them into the conversation.”
“We must not quarrel.” His odd eyes caressed her body in a way she did not like. “I shall call on you tomorrow.”
“I regret, my lord, that I believe I have several calls to make.”
“On the contrary, Lady Dacey herself invited me and gave me permission to take you driving in the park.”
Honoria looked around for Pamela. She felt threatened. Her life was being organized for her. From now on, she would meet only the gentlemen Lady Dacey allowed her to meet. She would probably never see the duke again.
Fortunately for her, Lady Dacey discovered how tired she really was from her journey shortly after the duke left, and so she appeared to tell Honoria they were returning home.
Pamela was as silent as Honoria on the road back to Hanover Square. She felt a great weight of guilt somewhere in the pit of her stomach. She was letting herself fall more deeply in love every day. And yet she found it in her heart to be concerned for Honoria. It was almost as if the pair of them had been plunged back into their old life of thralldom overnight. While they had been waiting at the opera for Lady Dacey's carriage to be brought round, Honoria had protested that she did not really want to go driving on the following day with Lord Herne, to which Lady Dacey had replied calmly, “You will do as you are told.”
When they entered the house, Lady Dacey said to Pamela, “I would have a word with you in private. Go to bed, Honoria.”
In the Green Saloon, Lady Dacey said briskly, “Delaney is in love with you and you are encouraging him.”
Pamela looked at the floor and said in a stifled voice, “I am sorry if that is the way it appears. Mr. Delaney is a good friend and...”
“Good friend, fiddlesticks. Harken to me, Pamela. You have done well in my absence. You have attired young Honoria in style, although I thought her braids were pretty. Never mind. Herne is interested in her and would make her a good husband.”
“Never!”
Lady Dacey's voice was like silk. “You will help me to secure Herne for Honoria or I will write to that husband of yours and suggest he travel south to see how you go on with Sean Delaney.”
“That will not be necessary,” said Pamela with cold contempt. “For I shall not be seeing Mr. Delaney again, so you may not use that as a weapon.”
“You shouldn't try to cross me. Your usefulness is over. Pack and get ready to leave in the morning. I shall go and tell Honoria so.”
Honoria looked up as her aunt entered the room. “I have just told Pamela to take her leave in the morning.”
“Why?” Honoria put down the hairbrush she had been holding.
“Because she dared to cross me. She is behaving scandalously with Delaney. I think Herne is a good catch for you. Pamela protested. So I told her I would tell that husband of hers about Delaney. So she gets uppity and says she will not see Delaney again.”
Honoria sat very still. She wondered briefly why her aunt's behavior was not surprising.
Then she said with an affected calm, “That indeed is very sad, for in that case I must return as well. Oh, I will be beaten for it and forced to marry a local man whom I detest and Papa will have to pay you for all my clothes. But I will not see my friend sent away in this humiliating way.” She turned back to the mirror and picked up the brush again. “One last favor, Clarissa. I will write a letter to the Duke of Ware. He will be monstrous sad that we are leaving, as will his friend. Of course, as he has been all that is kind, I will explain my reasons for leaving.”
“Minx! I shall not deliver such a letter!”
“Then Pamela and I will call at the duke's townhouse and deliver it in person. And now, Clarissa, all that remains is for me to thank you for your hospitality. I will also tell Papa and Mama that we had to rely on the duke and Mr. Delaney for our social entrée, as you were in Paris.”
“Now, now, turn around again and pay attention to me,” said Lady Dacey, sitting down heavily on the bed and staring at her niece. “Let me think.”
She sat, scowling horribly, while Honoria watched her with outward calm and inner turmoil. Surely her aunt would not do anything to disaffect the Duke of Ware.
“I cannot believe such a sermon-reading widgeon as yourself,” said Lady Dacey at last, “could be capable of such guile. But it looks to me as if you are telling me that without you and the vicar's wife, Ware won't call. Well, let me tell you, Miss Milksop, that Ware could hardly bear to be away from my side this evening.”
Lady Dacey gave her a calculating look but Honoria said, her lips curling with amusement, “Oh, I thought he was being courteous to you because of me.”
“Why should he bother about a tepid young miss like you?”
“Dear me, I don't know, I am sure, but while you were away, he called almost every day. Of course, the minute he learns you mean to hand me over to Herne—and that is what you plan, is it not?—I am sure he will stay clear and believe me, Aunt, he certainly will not call if Pamela and I are not in residence.”
Lady Dacey stood up, and as she did so, she saw her own tired face reflected in the mirror and then looked at Honoria's beautiful one. Then there had been that lecture that Ware had given her before he left the ballroom. He had told her to do her best for Honoria and that “best” should not include trying to affiance her to a lecher like Herne. But rich as Lady Dacey was, she adored jewels, and Herne had promised her the Light of India, a huge diamond on display at the famous jewelers, Rundell and Bridge's, if she let him have Honoria.
She looked up, for Honoria had begun to speak again. Honoria had suddenly wondered if she could begin the reformation of her aunt by guile rather than by sermonizing. “It has been my observation, Clarissa,” she said, “that ladies who dress like women of easy virtue are treated as such.”
“Are you referring to me, you impertinent baggage!”
“I am only saying that the immodesty of your dress belies the fact that you are a great lady with a good heart who wishes to marry again and yet must advertise to the world at large that perhaps favors can be got outside marriage.”
“And how do you know all this, Miss Innocent?”
“By observation. As you were not present, Pamela and I put our time to good use by listening to on-dits, by studying the lords and ladies, to put it crudely, by studying the market. A good woman weds: a bad woman does not.”
Instead of being furious—which she really felt she ought to be—Lady Dacey was struck by this novel idea. What was the point of having men lust after you instead of falling in love with you? And that Pamela Perryworth had an exquisite dress sense.
She was sure if she could spend some more time in Ware's company, she could secure him. Honoria's prattle, that of a young girl, would soon bore him.
Everyone at the ball had been commenting on Honoria's beauty. Young men flocked round her. Instead of sending their servants to present their compliments the next day, Lady Dacey was sure that the gentlemen who had danced with Honoria would call in person. There was nothing, she felt, more delightful, more exhilarating than to be in a room full of men. Yes, she had to accept the wisdom of Honoria's remarks. She liked to shock; she enjoyed scandalizing the more sober matrons of society with her outrageous gowns. But outrageous gowns were not going to get her to the altar again. Ware was looking for a duchess, not a trollop.
Honoria watched her, her heart beating hard, praying inwardly to God to forgive her for scheming in such a way as to stay in London.
To her immense surprise, Lady Dacey sighed and said, “What think you of the wig?”
Honoria looked at the red wig.
She said cautiously, “Red hair is not fashionable. I have never seen your own hair.”
Lady Dacey whipped off the wig, and revealed a cropped head of black curls.
“Why, your own hair is vastly pretty, Aunt. It makes your eyes look monstrous large.” Privately Honoria thought that her aunt was one of those rare women whose eyes could do with being reduced in size. “Perhaps, Aun—I mean Clarissa—I could tell Pamela we are staying, after all?”
“Yes, yes. You must forgive my tetchiness, my dear. I am overset after the journey.”
Honoria smiled sweetly. “I shall go now and see Pamela and then I shall read to you.”
Lady Dacey groaned but Honoria was already leaving the room.
Pamela was packing her clothes, only the clothes she had brought with her, tears dropping on the fabric.
“Dry your eyes,” said Honoria. “You are not going.”
“Why? What happened?”
Honoria related her conversation with her aunt. Pamela looked at her in amazement. “I would never have believed you could be so ... so devious, Honoria.”
“Needs must,” said Honoria with a little shrug. “I could not contemplate staying in London without you. But to return now! Papa and Mama would be furious and we do not want Aunt writing anything about Mr. Delaney to Mr. Perryworth.”
“Not that there is anything to write about,” said Pamela defiantly, although a glow of sheer relief and happiness was spreading inside her. If Lady Dacey were to pursue Ware, that meant seeing more of Ware's friend instead of the agony of avoiding him altogether.
“Put those clothes of yours back in the press, dear,” said Honoria, “or burn them, for you will now be able to take your new clothes home to dazzle the county of Yorkshire.” She looked at Pamela and a crusading light lit up her eyes. “And now I am going to read to Aunt.”
“I am glad I threw that book of sermons out of the window,” commented Pamela, “for she would certainly not enjoy hearing those.”
“I have my Book of Common Prayer,” said Honoria.
* * * *
Lady Dacey shifted uneasily in bed as Honoria sat down primly on a hard chair beside it and opened a large volume of the Book of Common Prayer. “Is this necessary, my dear?” asked Lady Dacey faintly.
“An evening psalm is always necessary,” said Honoria and began to read Psalm 137.
“'By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept: when we remembered thee, O Sion.
“'As for our harps, we hanged them up: upon the trees that are therein.
“'For they that led us away captive required of us then a song, and melody, in our heaviness: Sing us one of the songs of Sion.
“'How shall we sing the Lord's song: in a strange land?
“'If I forget thee, O Jerusalem: let my right hand forget her cunning.
“'If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth: yea, if I prefer not Jerusalem in my mirth.
“'Remember the days of Edom, O Lord, in the day of Jerusalem: how they said, Down with it, down with it, even to the ground.'”
A faint snore came from the bed. Lady Dacey was fast asleep. Honoria looked down at her sleeping aunt with something approaching love. There was always hope for reform.
It was only when she reached her own bedroom that she realized that London had changed her, had made her much braver than she had
ever been before. Lord Herne? Pooh! There was nothing he could do. She could not be constrained to marry him, or anyone, not anymore. Freedom from home should not lie in the hands of some future husband. She stood frowning. She had had a good education. Despite what she had heard, she was sure she could find employ as a governess, although being so young she would find it difficult to obtain such a position. But if she and Pamela joined forces to start a school! If they could find a little money to do that! But that would be taking Pamela away from her husband, and that would be a wicked thing to do.
* * * *
Mr. Perryworth had finished his rounds of the village. He had an urge to call on Mrs. Watkins, just to be civil, but when he knocked at her door, there was no reply, and he could not find the courage to open the door and look into the parlor and see whether she was at home or not.
The day was fine, and daffodils were blowing in the tussocky grass of the churchyard and a forsythia bush spilled its golden glory over a mossy table tombstone. A marble angel held one pale finger up to the pale blue sky. The vicar was reluctant to return to the empty vicarage and walked back out onto the road and so out of the village toward the moors, unconsciously following the path taken by his wife when she wished to escape from the constraints of her marriage.
He rounded a bend in the road and stopped short. Mrs. Watkins was in the act of mounting a stile, her skirts hitched up, showing a well-turned ankle. The blustery wind was molding her clothes against her body. He experienced an odd feeling near to panic and was about to turn about when she called, “Mr. Perryworth! Can you help me, please?”
He went forward to join her. Her eyes glinted down at him. “Could you help me, please, sir?”
“Gladly.”
The Sins of Lady Dacey Page 9