The Original Miss Honeyford (12 page)

She awoke with a start. Some horsehair was pressing through the upholstery of the sofa and prickling her cheek. She felt tired and cross and out of sorts. There must be some way she could banish Lord Alistair from her dreams.

Lady Canon was, at that moment, taking tea at the home of a certain Lady Maxwell and graciously accepting praise on the beauty of her niece from the other ladies present.

“I am very pleased to say,” said Lady Canon, “that I have high hopes of Honoria’s announcing her engagement very soon.”

Immediately, she was pressed to reveal the name of the lucky man, all the other hopeful mamas wondering which eligible man they could knock off their list.

“Now, I cannot really tell you at this moment,” laughed Lady Canon. “But a certain young earl is vastly
épris
in that direction.”

All the mamas carefully ticked off Lord Channington in their minds. Then Honoria Honeyford’s hopes and aspirations were forgotten as Lady Maxwell began to talk about an article she had read on the proper care of cooks. The article, she said, pointed out the necessity of frequent administration of physic to one’s cook. The cook lived most of his life among unwholesome vapors exhaled by the coals, and the intense heat of the fire was pernicious to the lung and sight. The continual fumes arising from the stores, the vapors arising from the walls, and the amount of drink he had to pour down his parched throat, all combined to
encrust
the palate. “I did notice my Armand’s ragouts were becoming too highly seasoned,” said Lady Maxwell, “and so I called the physician on the spot. The wretched man prescribed two days’ complete rest for my cook, which was quite impossible as I was giving a supper. I do not think one should
cosset
servants—even cooks!”

There were nods of agreement all around with the exception of a mousy, little girl called Miss Teesdale, who volunteered timidly that it might be more inexpensive in the long run to remodel the kitchen and make sure there was enough light and air. Everyone promptly pretended not to have heard Miss Teesdale, deafness being the weapon the aristocracy always uses to depress radical ideas.

Lady Canon at last rose to take her leave. To her surprise, Mrs. Hudson, an old friend of Lady Maxwell, accosted her in the hall and begged for a moment of her time. Lady Canon reluctantly agreed to drive around with her for a little. Mrs. Hudson was very rich, but did not go about much in society, and Lady Canon preferred to limit her friendships to those who were good ton. She was also worried that Honey might possibly have decided to get up to some mad escapade in her absence. But what Mrs. Hudson had to tell her in the leather-scented darkness of the carriage as it ambled around and around Berkeley Square alarmed Lady Canon into giving the unfashionable Mrs. Hudson her full attention.

The story of the seduction of Pamela and her subsequent enforced marriage to the younger son came out.

“But why did you simply not
force
Channington to marry her,” said Lady Canon, appalled.

“Pamela had written him several very… unwise… letters,” said Mrs. Hudson. “She promised him anything so long as she could spend some time with him. He threatened to have the letters published. He said he would make Pamela a laughingstock. He would claim that
he
had been seduced. We were terrified of the scandal. When he promised not to speak, not to talk about it, we were so relieved. Now, I feel I have let him go free to ruin some other young lady’s life—some young lady like your niece.”

“But Honoria has great independence of spirit. I cannot see her running slavishly after any man,” said Lady Canon.

“Pamela was just such a girl until he broke her spirit. I beg you, Lady Canon, do everything in your power to keep your niece away from Channington. The man is a devil. At first he seems so very warm and kind and protective. There was another lady who fell victim to his charms. I tried to warn the girl’s parents. They did listen to me, but when they ordered their daughter not to see Channington, she ran off with him.”

“I will think of something,” said Lady Canon firmly. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I only wish I did not believe you.”

Lady Canon summoned Honey to the saloon as soon as she arrived home.

“I have nothing arranged for this evening,” she said. “I wish you to have as much rest as possible before the ball at Almack’s tomorrow night. Channington seems very persistent. Do not encourage him.”

“I find Lord Channington an extremely agreeable man,” said Honey. “You are surely not going to
order
me to fall in love with someone else.”

Honey’s chin had a stubborn line and her eyes flashed.

Go carefully, thought Lady Canon. If I forbid her to see Channington, she might rebel.

“I have heard Channington is a womanizer,” she said aloud.

“So have I,” said Honey. “Lord Alistair was at great pains to point that fact out to me. Allow me to be my own judge of character, Aunt Elizabeth. Lord Channington’s manner to me has been all that is correct.”

Lady Canon decided she needed time to think and plan. She dismissed Honey, telling her to have an early night.

After Honey had left, she considered sending for Channington and warning him off, but such an experienced seducer might tell Honey, and then persuade her to go off with him.

What does one do to fight a seducer? thought Lady Canon, scowling horribly at the fire.

And then she had an idea.

Find another seducer, and the one would cancel out the other!

“You want me to
what?”

Lord Alistair Stewart was shaken out of his usual urbanity.

“I want you to lure Honoria away from Channington and as quickly as possible so that she may fix her attention on someone suitable.”

“I am relieved to hear you do not consider me suitable.”

“You are a confirmed bachelor, Lord Alistair, for all your charming ways.”

“Just
why
should I waste my time making a chit like Miss Honeyford fall in love with me—even supposing I could do so?”

“For the sake of the very dear friendship between your mama and myself,” said Lady Canon firmly. “Also, you are a gentleman and I am asking you to do a chivalrous action.”

“The simplest way is often best,” pointed out Lord Alistair. “Why not warn Miss Honeyford that Channington is a womanizer?”

“I have tried, as you yourself have tried. I almost set her off in a contrary direction. She is very strong-willed. Come, Lord Alistair, a man of your charm and address should not need to waste much time on the matter. A week at the most. It should be a refreshing novelty for you. You have spent so long fending young ladies off, you should enjoy putting yourself out to attract one.”

“I do not think Miss Honeyford likes me. In fact, I am persuaded she detests me.”

“And what has that got to do with love?” said Lady Canon cynically. “You have not tried to court her. In fact, if her account of your behavior on the road be true, you went on more like a cross old uncle.”

“I had reason, believe me.”

“Then you now have reason to behave otherwise,” said Lady Canon tartly.

Lord Alistair sighed and studied the polished toes of his boots. If he refused, Lady Canon would call on his mama, and his mama would call on him and would start to weep. Then, he found himself thinking of Miss Honeyford. A little time in her company would soon prove her to be as tedious as any other female.

Lady Canon studied him and wondered what on earth Honoria could see in Lord Channington when there was a man like Lord Alistair around. His face had a light golden tan which, together with his bright blue eyes and golden hair, made him look seductively handsome. He was wearing a dark blue morning coat with plated buttons. His toilinet waistcoat was striped with dark blue on pale blue and bound with silk binding. His long, well-muscled legs were shown to advantage in a pair of fitting, drab-colored kerseymere breeches which were fastened below the knee with gilt buttons. His brown Hussar boots winked in the firelight, reflecting the flames in their mirror-like gloss.

She had a sudden stab of jealousy and wished for a moment the roles were reversed and Honoria was the dowager and herself the young miss.

“I am waiting for your answer,” she said.

“I am not yours to command, Lady Canon,” said Lord Alistair mildly. “It is an outrageous request and I am trying to consider it at leisure.”

Lord Alistair thought of Honey in Channington’s arms. He found the picture exquisitely distasteful.

“I will see what I can do,” he said.

“We are to go to Almack’s tonight. It would be most gracious of you to escort Honoria.”

“Miss Honeyford may not be very pleased to see me.”

“As my niece, she has no choice in the matter,” said Lady Canon, her black eyes snapping. Lord Alistair felt sorry for Honey.

“Besides,” went on Lady Canon, “Honoria is the reigning belle. It will not be considered odd in the slightest when you start paying court to her. You were used to pay court to the reigning belles as a matter of fashion.”

“That was in my salad days,” he said ruefully. “I shall call for you at nine.”

Honey, resplendent in a silver gauze ball gown embroidered with silver acorns, was blissfully unaware of her planned escort until the very last minute. She was too worried to think much about the ball because of the diamond circlet placed on her head by Lady Canon’s maid, Clarisse. Honey was sure it had been bought specially, and cringed at the thought of the money that was being spent on her.

It only dawned on her as the hands of the clock approached nine that her aunt was unusually nervous.

“Are we still waiting for the carriage to be brought around, Aunt Elizabeth?” asked Honey, after that lady had looked at the clock for the umpteenth time.

“No, my love. Merely awaiting your escort.”

“My escort!” Honey blushed becomingly. “Then do not fear. Lord Channington did not strike me as the sort of gentleman who would be unpunctual.”

“Not Channington, my love. Stewart.”

Honey did not have time to reply. The clock struck nine and Lord Alistair was ushered into the saloon.

Honey’s lips folded in a mutinous line. Aunt Elizabeth should have warned her. She, Honoria Honeyford, did not want to make her debut at Almack’s on the arm of a man who did nothing but find fault with her. She had told him to stay away from her, and he had shouted, “Gladly.” But now he was smiling down at her as if they were the best of friends.

Anger lent a sparkle to her hazel eyes and color to her cheeks.

Lord Alistair looked formidably elegant in his black evening coat and knee breeches. Breeches were
de rigueur
at Almack’s, the stern patronesses saying that only gentlemen with bandy legs or other defects in their extremities would be allowed to wear trousers.

Several of the young bloods had put in an appearance one night claiming to have bow legs and demanding that their legs should be examined to show they spoke the truth—all in the hope of embarrassing the patronesses.

It was they who were embarrassed when the patronesses took them at their word, inspected them, declared their limbs to be fit for breeches, and expelled them into the night.

Lord Alistair bowed and complimented Honey on her appearance. There was a tinge of mockery in his drawling voice and Lady Canon flashed him a warning look.

Honey’s first impression of Almack’s was that it was a very depressing place. The floor was not very good and the dancing area was roped off like a cattle pen. There was nothing stronger to drink than orgeat or lemonade, and the sandwiches were already curling at the edges in a tired way as if this were not their first ball.

But then, Almack’s had never wasted much money on appearances since it was first opened by that shrewd Scotchman, McCall. By keeping the price of admission high, and by pandering to the Exclusives, he soon had it well enough furnished by the most glittering members of society.

The great George Brummell was already there, standing in a
dégagé
attitude with his fingers in his waistcoat pocket, talking earnestly to the Duchess of Rutland. The exercise of Brummell’s power lay in his making rules, setting tastes, establishing standards for the management of those things that the superior world considered superior to all else. Once, when a duchess offended him, Brummell said, “She shall suffer for it. I’ll chase her from society; she shall not be another fortnight in existence.”

George Brummell could not possibly have risen to such eminence in any other period in history. Society was beginning to relax now that the fears engendered by the American War of Independence and the French Revolution were over. Once more they felt secure and they needed a ringmaster to direct their play in such a way that the crude lower classes were kept out of it.

The lady patronesses were all out in force: Lady Castlereagh, Lady Jersey, Lady Cowper, Lady Sefton, Mrs. Drummond Burrell, Princess Esterhazy, and Countess Lieven.

Unlike most dowagers, Lady Canon advised Honey to steer clear of Mr. Brummell and not to put herself in the way of talking to the patronesses unless absolutely necessary. Reputations had been ruined by young misses coming across one of the despots of the ton in a dyspeptic mood. “You can never tell when someone’s spleen is going to be out of order,” as Lady Canon put it.

At first, Lady Canon thought Lord Alistair had forgotten his promise. He was nowhere to be seen among the crowd of men surrounding Honey, but Channington most certainly was.

But Honey had promised the waltz to Lord Alistair, since it seemed Lord Alistair had the power to extract permission from the patronesses to lead her in that shocking dance, and, furthermore, Honey had become worldly-wise enough not to ruin her reputation by giving Lord Alistair a setdown in the middle of Almack’s. That could wait until later.

She danced the first country dance with Lord Channington, and there was not much opportunity for conversation during the dance. But as the custom was to promenade with your partner afterward, Lord Channington made the most of the opportunity, shaking his head over the news that Honey had been escorted to the ball by Lord Alistair, and warning her delicately that Lord Alistair had a heart as hard as flint.