Lady in Red (10 page)

“No,” Anthony agreed, sagging back in his chair as if suddenly exhausted, a dashed expression on his face. “You don’t have to listen to anything.”

“Good day, Anthony.” Marcus turned to leave, but Anthony’s hand shot out and gripped his wrist.

Marcus looked down at his brother.

Anthony’s eyes darkened. “I’m sorry. But it had to be said. We’ve all been—We’re worried. That’s all.”

Marcus shook off Anthony’s grip. “Do me a great favor, will you? Spare me any more of your worry. I don’t like it and I don’t need it.”

With that, he turned and left, barely acknowledging those who bowed or called out greetings. Bloody hell, what was that all about? Disturbed more than he would admit, Marcus made his way to his carriage, wondering if the entire world had set out to thwart him today.

Two days later, Honoria sat in the sitting room with her sisters. It was a charming tableau, a fact she might have noticed had she not been so sunk in thought as to be oblivious to her surroundings. Cassandra, who was sitting beside Honoria on the sofa, had attempted to ask no less than three questions about the embroidery that sat unattended in Honoria’s lap. Upon receiving no reply the final time, Cassandra had sighed and quietly given up.

But Portia, who was far less patient, had broken off pacing the room with a book balanced on her head in an effort to learn how to appear taller while walking, planted herself firmly before Honoria and then said in a very loud voice, “Are you asleep?”

Honoria had jumped, her embroidery hoop thudding to the rug at her feet. Heart pounding at such a rude recall, she’d pressed a hand to her thudding heart. “Ye gods, Portia! You gave me such a start!”

“Cassandra and I both have tried to get your attention and you’ve been staring off into the distance as if in a trance,” Portia said, having to look down her nose at Honoria or else lose the book perched upon her head. “I was beginning to think you’d expired whilst sitting upright and just hadn’t yet fallen over.”

“Portia,” Cassandra said, a faint note of reproof in her sweet voice. “How can you suggest such a thing?”

Olivia looked up from where she sat at the escritoire; ink stains on her fingers from penning a poem entitled “The Mighty Frigate of the Sea.”

“Cassandra, I don’t know why that surprises you. You know how Portia is. always looking at the dark side of life.” Olivia gave Portia an approving look. “It’s one of her best features.”

“Thank you,” Portia said, managing a curtsy that set the book rocking in a most precarious fashion.

“Dark side of life or no, it was unpleasant for Portia to say such a thing about Honoria,” Cassandra said in a faintly disapproving tone. She glanced at Honoria. “I’m certain our sister has much weighing upon her mind.”

Honoria did indeed have weighty issues on her mind. Issues like a heated, passionate and extremely inappropriate kiss. A kiss that she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.

Oh not constantly, of course. There were times when she almost forgot. Why yesterday, while helping Mrs. Kemble take inventory of the linens, Honoria hadn’t thought of the kiss for a full twenty-two minutes. Then this morning, while searching for a larger hatbox for poor Achilles, she didn’t think about the marquis or his blasted kiss for almost thirteen minutes and a half. Of course, none of those few moments of respite were much help when every other waking moment— and worse, every sleeping moment as well—were filled with a confusing array of memories and thoughts.

She supposed it was a good thing she’d received such a disturbing kiss now, while she was older and more in charge of her feelings. For certainly, had she experienced such a thing while younger—Cassandra’s age or less—she might have thought herself attracted to the marquis. Which was a laughable thought indeed.

And had she been of an earlier age, such rubbishing thoughts could well have confused her into thinking that love, and possibly even marriage, were in her future; all thoughts she’d long ago put to rest.

Honoria absently turned the talisman ring on her finger, staring at the glittering runes. She didn’t know what her destiny was, only that it was far more than mere marriage. While such a state seemed to have suited her mother when she’d been alive, and seemed to be Cassandra’s only dream, Honoria wanted more. Over the years, she’d found her purpose in life beyond merely taking care of her family, and that was her true love of antiquities. For Honoria, they were more than mere objects. They were memories of history, of a time gone by, of people who’d lived and died and had left reminders of their passage.

By collecting antiquities, she was preserving a living reminder of those people and their talents. And that was far more important than merely being married and devoting oneself to making certain someone else’s cravats had enough starch. Of course, with the marquis, there would be more to life than just cravats, if that kiss was anything to set store by.

The memory of the kiss tickled her lips and made her smile. No matter what one might wish to say about Trey-mount, he was certainly talented in—

“Honoria?” Juliet sat, feet curled beneath her in the largish chair by the fire, reading a book about horse care. But now her eyes were fastened on Honoria. “Do you feel well? It isn’t like you to be so quiet.”

Portia tilted her head and let her book slide into her hands. “It is especially not like you to stare at that ring in such a fashion. What
are
you thinking about so seriously?”

Honoria realized that her sisters were all staring at her, various shades of concern on their faces. She sighed. “I was just dozing with my eyes open.”

Four flat, unimpressed stares met this blatant falsehood.

Honoria sighed irritably. “Oh very well! If you must know, I have been thinking about the marquis who came to call a few days ago.”

Portia tossed the book onto a table and pulled a chair up so that she was facing Honoria. “I was so hoping you’d tell us what he wanted!”

“She did,” Cassandra said. “He came inquiring about his ring.”

“There has to be something more,” Portia said, staring intently at Honoria. “Or she wouldn’t be so distracted.”

Honoria sighed. “I suppose I might as well tell you all. It’s true that this ring is Treymount’s. It’s also true that I asked for a fortune and he would not agree. However, while bargaining with him, it dawned on me that there was something he possessed that would be of far more importance at this moment than funds.”

“More important than money?” Olivia looked up from her foolscap and blinked. “Whatever could that be?”

“His standing in society. I thought that if he would but agree to sponsor Cassandra, all our troubles would be over. After all, once Ned and Father return with the new shipment and we can sell it through the shop, all will be well for the rest of us. But Cassandra must have her season now.”

Color flooded Cassandra’s face and she dipped her head, her golden hair gleaming softly. “Oh, Honoria! You didn’t!”

Honoria’s cheeks heated to match Cassandra’s. “I did,” she said a little defensively. “But don’t worry; he refused. He pointed out quite correctly that it would not be at all the thing.” She sighed heavily. “It seemed like the perfect plan.”

“I daresay he receives twice the invitations as Aunt Caroline,” Portia conceded.

Olivia lifted a silver etched sandbox and shook it gently over her new poem, the thirsty grains rapidly drinking up the extra ink and drying it. “Well, it is a perfectly excellent plan, though I must say I can see there are shoals along that route.”

Honoria propped her elbow on her knee and rested her chin in her hand. “So we’re back to the money, which can come in quite handy yet. But… I have not heard from the marquis for several days.”

“Oh! Do you think he has lost interest in regaining his ring?”

“No,” Honoria said, running her fingers over the warmed silver band that graced her hand. “I think he is playing with me… hoping I’ll get desperate for the funds and reduce my request.”

Cassandra smiled. “He does not know you well.”

“No, he does not. Perhaps it is time to up the stakes, as it were. I need to show his high-and-mighty lordship that a Baker-Sneed is not to be trifled with.” She frowned. “All I need is to find one other person who might have an interest in the ring, and Treymount will be forced to accede.”

The door opened and Mrs. Kemble bustled in, followed by a small, slight man with a wizened face. “Miss Honoria, Becket from the stables wishes to speak to you.”

“Excellent!” Honoria said. And for the first time in two days, her heart lifted. She waited for Mrs. Kemble to leave before she said, “Yes, Mr. Becket?”

Their onetime coachman hurriedly pulled his hat from his head and began to wring it between his hands. He was a thin, smallish man with a permanently red face from being outside all of his life. He glanced uneasily about the room. “Miss Baker-Sneed, may I have a word with ye?”

“You may just tell me whatever you wish,” Honoria said. “My sisters have an interest in your efforts.”

“Very well, miss. I was watchin‘ his lordship the way ye asked me to—”

“Oh Honoria!” Portia cried, giving an excited hop. “You had Becket
watch
the marquis! How clever!”

“There’s no culling to portside with Honoria,” Olivia agreed. She smiled at Becket. “Pray continue!”

Beaming at the attention, he slipped his thumbs into his pockets and began his tale. “Well now, I been hidin‘ by his house, don’t ye know. And fer two days all he’s done is go to his house and then to his warehouse down by the docks and then to his solicitor’s office and then to White’s and then to—”

“Mr. Becket, did you discover what I asked you to?”

Becket flushed even darker, a smile curving his thin lips. “Indeed I did, miss! On arrivin‘ home from White’s, I heard him tell his coachman that he’d be going back out. And this time to a ball. At the Ox—” Becket frowned. “What was that name again? Ox—” He bit his lip.

“Oxford’s?” Portia looked at Honoria. “The Duke of Oxford, perhaps?”

Becket shook his head. “No. It weren’t that. It was Ox— something with a B, I do believe.”

“Ah!” Cassandra said, brightening. “The Oxbridges! That is where Aunt Caroline is attending a ball this very evening. Cousin Jane told me so this morning when I saw her at the lending library.”

Honoria stood, forgetting about her embroidery. This was it; the opportunity she’d been waiting for. It was time to remind her potential client that though she’d promised to give him a week to make up his mind about her offer, there were indeed other fish in the sea. Fish that might well be interested in possessing something near and dear to the hearts of the St. Johns. “Thank you, Becket. You have been a great help.”

“Ah there, it weren’t nothin’ at all.” Yet he looked pleased as he bowed and left.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Honoria turned to her sister. “Cassandra, could you braid my hair? Juliet, you-are the best with the flat iron. I shall have need of your assistance. And Portia, may I borrow your pearl necklet?”

“What about me?” Olivia protested.

“You shall write a letter to Aunt Caroline and ask if I may go to the ball as her guest. She feels quite retched about not assisting Cassandra, so I do not think she’ll refuse us this one request.”

Juliet leaned forward, her eyes wide. “What are you going to do?”

“Why, I am going to a ball. The very one his lordship is attending. Once there, I shall make certain the marquis does not forget that the Baker-Sneeds have something he dearly desires. Something that is only a few days from being sold right from beneath his very nose.”

Smiling at her sisters, Honoria swept to the door, a satisfying rustle drifting through the air behind her as the room came to life. “Come, all! We’ve not a moment to lose!”

Chapter 6

Pray have a care with your pins, you wretch! It would be one thing to lose my head for political reasons
—
that would at least put a pretty epitaph upon my grave, which has been a lifelong goal of mine. But I will be damned if I will die over something as uninteresting as a misplaced hairpin!

Lady Southland to her new French maid, while allowing that rather inept individual to arrange my lady’s hair
a la Sappho

The gown of blue watered silk opened over an undergown of white sarcenet embroidered with tiny pink and blue flowers. The small sleeves puffed at the shoulder, revealing Honoria’s slender arms, while the rounded neckline emphasized her graceful neck. All in all, it was a well enough gown for her purpose.

“There. How do I look?” Honoria held her arms out to her sides and turned to her audience.

George looked up from where he sat on the floor by the dresser, ankles crossed before him, Achilles safely tucked in his coat pocket. “Must you wear such a silly gown? All those flowers and such.” He made a face. “I like your regular gowns better.”

“Oh hush, George!” Juliet said reprovingly. “Honoria looks beautiful and you know it.”

Portia pursed her lips thoughtfully. “The tiara is a nice touch. Set amidst so many curls, no one would suspect it is made of paste.”

“Considering it is on
my
head, everyone will
know
it is made of paste,” Honoria said dryly. “The Baker-Sneeds may be related to half the ton, but only the less fortunate half.”