Honoria Or The Safety 0f The Frying Pan

by Catherine Bowness

  She flung her napkin upon the table and stood up. The waiter, bowing, enquired whether there was anything he could do to ameliorate whatever it was that had caused the gnädige Frau to decide to leave the restaurant before her dinner had been laid before her.

  “Nothing,” she replied sharply. “It is merely that I have recalled that I must be somewhere else within the next five minutes. Pray call me a cab and bring me my hat and coat.”

  As he scurried off to do her bidding, the Count rose from his chair and attempted to prevent her from leaving.

  “I am sorry; my conduct was outrageous. Pray forgive me,” he begged, looking, she was glad to see, appalled at finding himself in the middle of a scene which had drawn all eyes.

  “I have suffered enough and your vulgar curiosity is the very last thing that I am prepared to endure,” she snapped, casting him a look of loathing.

  The waiter appeared with her coat, helped her on with it, informed her that another minion had gone outside to find her a cab and attempted to escort her from the restaurant. He was thwarted, however, by the Count, who, flinging down a handful of money upon the table for their as yet unserved meal, pushed him aside, and strode after Cassie himself.

  She, a few steps ahead of him, reached the cab which the lackey had flagged down and climbed in as soon as the door was opened but not fast enough to prevent the Count from following.

  “Where to, Meinherr?” the driver asked.

  “I care not; just drive,” was the reply.

  The door was shut by the lackey from the restaurant and a moment later the coach began to move.

  Cassie, put forcibly in mind of her original abduction from Vauxhall Gardens more than twenty years previously, retreated to her corner of the carriage without a word.

  “I am sorry,” the Count repeated, although he sounded more angry than apologetic. “We had, I thought, grown so close that you would not take it amiss for me to ask such a question. I put it badly.”

  “You should not have put it at all,” she snapped. “I daresay you thought that a loose woman would not object to being asked such an impudent question. Indeed, I never was intentionally a loose woman,” she added bitterly, remembering with resentment her dislike of her career and her strong sense of ill-usage. “I was forced into the most abominable situation and thought – nay believed – that leaving my home and coming to this horrid city would put an end to such insults being levelled at me.”

  “And so it has; no one has insulted you and, if you took my question that way, it is no doubt on account of the tactless way I phrased it.”

  “It is on account of the nature of the question,” she returned coldly.

  “I still do not understand why you have taken such exception to being asked if you thought that, some time in the future, you might find yourself forming an attachment. Is it the idea of entertaining tender feelings towards a man which you find so horrifying that you cannot remain in the same room – albeit a public restaurant – with one who asks it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? You ask why when you know my history? Why do you wish to know? Is it merely vulgar curiosity – a desire to know what passes through the mind of a woman of my sort? Do you tell me that you have never had dealings with a harlot before? You admitted to debauchery – was such behaviour conducted only with married women of your acquaintance?”

  “More or less; although I suppose I must on occasion have had dealings with women of a different rank.”

  “I am as high a rank as you, mein Herr,” she said with sarcastic emphasis on the title. “Or I was – and I always understood rank to be a matter of birth. Where are we going?”

  “Nowhere – anywhere. I cannot allow you to go home in such a temper – and I was looking forward to my supper.”

  “I am sorry I have spoiled it for you. If you will take me to my house, you can return to eat it.”

  “I cannot go back after leaving in such a rush – what would they think?”

  “Probably that you have disposed of the ill-behaved woman you foolishly invited to sit with you and have come back to sate your appetite in that direction at least.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “What am I implying? The people in the restaurant will think that your companion lost her temper at something you said – which she did – and that you followed her out – as you did – took possession of her and did what you wanted before returning for your dinner. I daresay they will cast you a few amused glances but I don’t doubt you will be able to live those down.”

  “What on earth did you think I wanted?”

  “I have not the least idea but must suppose that your invitation was planned as the precursor to an evening of idle amusement on your part. Did you intend to offer me money or did you suppose that, now that I have retired from paid lovemaking, I would offer you an hour or two in exchange for the concert and the supper?”

  “You thought that?” he exclaimed, outraged in his turn.

  “What else was I to think?”

  “Almost anything but that. Have I ever given you the slightest reason to suppose that I hoped you would submit to what I daresay you consider my base male desires? I thought we were friends, fellow pupils, I even – in my innocence – had begun to hope that one day we might be something closer.”

  “There!” she exclaimed. “You have admitted it – you sought, almost as soon as you became privy to my past, an opportunity to spend a night with me. Our ‘friendship’, as you call it, has clearly given way – on your part at least - to hopes of the most banal connexion. Pray instruct the driver to take me home.”

  This accusation, delivered in a glacial manner, not unnaturally stirred the Count to an anger matching Cassie’s own.

  “Not before we have cleared up what I must believe to be a misunderstanding,” he replied in a voice of clipped courtesy. “Until you told me the truth about your past and admitted that, not only had you not been widowed, but you had never been married either, I was of the belief that you were mourning a beloved husband. As a consequence, although I had begun, almost as soon as we met, to develop warmer feelings towards you, I determined to keep them to myself because I was certain you were not ready to entertain the thought of forming another attachment so soon. It was only when you confessed that you were mourning nobody – indeed swore that you had never truly loved any man – that I began to hope that you might, in time, feel for me something of what I feel for you. I realise now that, while you are not mourning a lost husband, you are in no state to receive the addresses of a man whom you shamelessly deceived but who, in spite of that, remained – and still remains – a devoted admirer. I will not insult you further, Mrs Morley.” With which, he banged upon the partition between him and the driver and instructed the man to drive at once to Cassie’s house.

  She, shocked by this revelation, could find nothing to say. It seemed that he had said all that he wished for a seething silence fell between them.

  The carriage turned, slipping slightly on the snowy road and propelling Cassie, who had been seated bolt upright on the edge of her seat to indicate how reluctant she was to remain there for a moment longer than necessary, into the Count’s arms; at least, he did not have his arms open to receive her until she fell but his reaction was as quick and unexpected as the lurch of the slipping carriage: one moment she was perched like an angry butterfly upon the squabs, the next she was dislodged – falling as though cut down by an unexpected gust of wind – then caught, steadied and restored to the seat but not to her corner. Somehow – and she was not at all certain of the exact sequence of events – she was close against his chest and a moment later their lips met.

  Whether he was taking advantage of the situation – or whether she was – neither could afterwards have said but the happy result of the sliding of the wheels upon compacted snow was that all the weeks of polite conversation in a variety of languages, the unexpected rapprochement of their previous meeting followed by t
he equally bewildering argument of a few minutes earlier coalesced into the most glorious moment of Cassie’s life.

  She had never kissed or been kissed in such a manner in all her forty-two years; that first blackguard had never embraced her quite like this – and she had, at that stage, known no better. In all the years when she had been a Bird of Paradise she had neither received nor given a kiss that held so much sentiment, that revealed such depths of desire or that, in spite of all this, yet quivered with the most delicious restraint.

  All the fight, the outrage, the broken-hearted, resentful anger of more than twenty-five years vanished in the blink of an eye, and when both drew back to draw breath, she leaned against him, her head upon his shoulder, and sighed with sheer joy.

  Neither spoke because for both that kiss – and those that followed – said all that needed or could be said.

  Chapter 28

  In the morning Honoria and Lord Ninfield set off together in the carriage which Lady Angmering had hired.

  Unlike her previous travelling companion, his lordship did not compose himself for sleep as soon as the carriage began to roll through the snow. He engaged her in conversation and, since he avoided personal subjects and concentrated upon informing her about the region through which they were passing, she soon found herself relaxing and learning a good deal. Where the Countess had dropped information at random like crumbs, which Honoria must pick up and digest on her own, Lord Ninfield approached the matter more in the manner of a tutor.

  “You said last night that you had spent a considerable amount of time here and you certainly speak the language extremely well; was that when you were a boy?” Honoria asked. She was determined to discover something of her companion’s past for it was becoming increasingly clear that, while neither aunt nor nephew showed any inclination to reveal themselves, they shared considerable skill at eliciting information from her.

  “Yes. Most people speak French, possibly because their regimes change so fast that they have found it useful to stick to a tongue which they have in common with most other Europeans. If you speak French - so long as you do so with a strong English accent so that no one will suspect you of belonging to a nation that is still distrusted and feared - you will find most people understand.”

  “Even coachmen and innkeepers?”

  “Innkeepers certainly; they have to deal with a great many travellers of every nationality and cannot be expected to have twenty or more languages at their disposal. Since I have been grown up, I have travelled here less frequently although I was in Wellington’s army for some years.”

  “Goodness! Was that not very frightening?”

  He smiled, a shadow of the condescension she had so disliked touching his lips. “Yes, as a matter of fact it was, but no one has ever asked me that before.”

  “You must think me very naïve. Were you wounded?”

  “Fortunately not,” he replied and turned the subject.

  That evening they stopped at another inn and Honoria found herself grateful for his lordship’s presence and the way he took charge of ordering the rooms and dinner.

  They ate early and, at Lord Ninfield’s suggestion, played piquet again. He beat her easily several times so that, at last, she said she did not think she could bear to put herself in the losing position again that evening.

  “I do not think you are familiar with the best way of playing,” he said. “Would you like me to instruct you?”

  “I think I would prefer not to think about piquet again just at the moment,” she admitted, turning down the corners of her mouth. The truth was that she was a little tired of constantly being in the wrong as well as exhausted from trying to commit everything his lordship said to memory. His company was ‘improving’ but, as a consequence, fatiguing.

  “You must not give way to despondency,” he advised. “It would be very much better to play again – with some advice from me. I am sure that, with practice and a few pointers as to the best method, you will soon be beating me – and no doubt even my aunt if you should play her again.”

  “I should not care to do so now that I know she is given to cheating,” Honoria said primly.

  He smiled. “She is of the belief that, since her romantic life has been disappointing, she might as well win at cards. After all, one cannot have everything one wants.”

  “In that case, I am sure I had much better not improve my playing. I believe I would prefer to be fortunate in love.”

  “And yet you have not been so far, have you? Am I right in thinking that you have run away from an obligation to marry your cousin?”

  “Yes; did your aunt tell you that in her letter?”

  “No; you told me so yourself the night I met you. It was clear that you were being put under considerable pressure to accede to his suit; as soon as I realised that you had run away, I put two and two together and came up with the cousin!”

  “I did not know what to do; I felt I was living in a nest of vipers and, not knowing which way to turn, decided to go away altogether. It was only once I had mounted my horse that I decided to make for Vienna.”

  “Good God! You certainly set off in something of a hurry. Did you not think of coming to me? I had the impression that you found what I suppose I could call my ‘steadiness’ reassuring.”

  “Yes, I did and you were one whose name came before my mind as I searched for someone on whose mercy to throw myself. But I could not present myself in the middle of the night at the house of a man I had only just met.”

  “Of course you could have done; my sister would have taken you in immediately.”

  This kindly offer, although arriving too late to be of any use, was sufficiently endearing to enable the pair to continue their journey in perfect amity. With every day’s travel the snow lay thicker on the ground and the falls became almost continuous so that the increasingly wooded scenery was seen through something resembling a veil.

  They were not many days distant from their objective when his lordship raised the subject of Horatio again.

  “When we reach Vienna, I think we should engage rooms in an inn while I ascertain his direction. It might be a good idea to write him a note rather than simply to turn up on his doorstep. He is bound, after all, to feel responsible for you.”

  “You have met him, have you not? So it will not be difficult for you to approach him?”

  “Oh no – and an Englishman can always seek advice from a member of the Embassy staff. Are you – forgive me for asking – hoping perhaps that Lord Waldron will – is already in love with you?”

  Honoria was insulted by the suggestion; it seemed that she must reiterate at frequent intervals that the two young men in her family were precisely that: members of her family. The fact that one of them had changed his tune and begun to woo her did not by any means suggest either that the other would or that she hoped he would – had perhaps set out on this journey on account of the wrong brother-substitute having changed his approach.

  “In love with me? Good gracious, no! I’ve not seen him for five years. Your aunt said the same thing; she seemed to think …” She came to an abrupt halt because the Countess had listed three men she guessed to be in love with her young companion and one of them was the man in front of her.

  “I daresay she suggested I was in love with you too, and there she was quite right – and I am neither your brother nor your cousin. This is very likely not the best moment to raise such a matter but my initial desire to become better acquainted has led inevitably to my falling deep in love with you. I was determined to wait until after I had delivered you into Lord Waldron’s hands before I mentioned my feelings, not wishing you to think that I had taken advantage of you.”

  “I cannot see how your falling in love with me can be construed as ‘taking advantage’,” Honoria said after a pause while she collected herself. His declaration came as an unwelcome surprise. She had run away from one suitor and had, so far, been enjoying her adventure; now she wondered whether it was impossible f
or a young female to do anything or go anywhere without prompting declarations of love and offers of marriage from any man with whom she spent time.

  “No; obviously it is not; however, divulging my feelings at this juncture, when we are alone upon the road, is bound to make things awkward. I would like to make you my wife and had intended to ask you once we reached Vienna and you were safe in Waldron’s hands but I was determined to hold my tongue until then. Unfortunately, the best laid plans can go awry and, now that I have let the cat out of the bag, so to speak, I cannot put it back. Will you, dearest Honoria, do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

  As he pronounced the last sentence, he dropped to one knee before her and took her hand in his. She was appalled; this, it seemed to her, was worse than anything; she liked his lordship well enough, she found his company agreeable and informative but that was as far as it went, at least at present. There had been moments when she had not only thought that his feelings had grown decidedly warm but when she had herself felt drawn to him. All the same, she was by no means in love with him and, on receiving his offer, realised that, when she had incontinently fled her home, she had done so in the belief that she wanted to escape from Frank. She had been shocked – and indeed insulted and betrayed – by her cousin’s proposal, which had not included a believable declaration of love; nevertheless – and this was one of the reasons why she had been so angry with and afraid of him – there had been a rush of blood to her heart, a pounding excitement which she had found shockingly difficult to suppress and which he had read with shaming accuracy while she had misinterpreted it. Now, faced with a proposal from an unexceptionable source, she understood all too well that she could never marry Lord Ninfield for the simple reason that she was not only not in love with him but was already in love with another.

  Fortunately Lord Ninfield read her reaction – an entirely different one from that with which she had greeted Frank’s declaration – with a similar lack of difficulty. He rose from his knee, pressed her fingers, and turned away to refill their glasses.