Evan couldn’t help the broad smile spreading across his face as the little termagant came to his rescue. He swept her up in a joyous hug, relishing her soft curves a little too much—until she smacked his arm and kicked his shin. He let her down slowly, smiling into Miss Hoyt’s irate features. “Thank all that is holy that one of us chooses propriety over insanity. Bell needs to see her sisters and none of the loobies thought to call for them.”
“There are better ways of seeing them then dashing off in the middle of the night,” she scolded. “We’ll just send a servant to bring them here.”
“No,” Bell said softly, leaning from the gig. “They are very young and would only be confused by all the strangers. And they don’t have respectable clothes. His lordship would be a laughing stock if the company knew he was marrying into such a pitiful family. It’s better this way.” She held up a beribboned box. “Cook made them Christmas biscuits.”
Evan heard the tears in her voice. Bell hadn’t cried in years. Life had made her hard, too hard. She deserved this small rebellion.
He hauled Miss Hoyt from her sturdy feet and dropped her in beside Bell. She exclaimed in annoyance but didn’t immediately climb back out. Evan took that as a sign of encouragement. With difficulty, he maneuvered his greater size between them on the narrow seat and sat on the back to take up the reins. It was deuced uncomfortable but so were tears.
“You do not have to bring Miss Hoyt,” Bell admonished. “That’s terribly inconsiderate to her.”
“He’s being expedient,” proper Miss Hoyt expounded, as she apparently could not help doing. Evan hid his smile at recognition of one of her more endearing traits. “You must have a chaperone. I can explain to Belden as you could not if he found out the two of you were out here alone.”
“Expedient explanations are the best,” Evan said cheerfully, flicking the horses into motion.
“But Evan is like my brother. . .” Bell’s voice faded as the gig rolled away.
“Tell that to the marquess,” he said from above them. “You must start behaving like a proper lady instead of a hoyden. Let Miss Hoyt be your teacher.”
Miss Hoyt did not respond to that, which Evan thought rather odd. “You will be there to help Bell, will you not? She’ll need a bulwark against the wolves of society. She’s no older than you were when you had your season.”
“Belden is rather obtuse in matters of society and households,” Miss Hoyt replied through what sounded like clenched teeth. “But if his new bride requests my presence, he will listen, for a while.”
“Obtuse?” Bell inquired. “What does that mean?”
“That you need a better education,” Evan retorted. “How long has Belden been a bachelor?”
Miss Hoyt shrugged. “For decades, as far as I’m aware. He keeps company with men of business and power. He has little use for the weaker sex, but I’ve only been with him for this past ten years or so. He’s all that is proper, I assure you, possibly a little too much so. He considers ballrooms a waste of time and only attends society functions if he wishes to meet someone there.”
“And you are the one who handles his household, so he has no need to consider menus and servants and all that bother?” Evan asked, drawing her out.
“Exactly. But he will expect the lady of the house to take on those tasks, because that is what one does. It has not occurred to him that Lady Isabell has not been brought up as his mother, sisters, and late wife were.”
“In a prior century,” Evan added, for effect, since the old century was only last year. “We do not mean to discourage you, Bell, but you need to walk into this marriage with your eyes wide open.”
“I am,” she said defiantly. “I am doing what is best for my family and the horses. I can learn what to do.”
“Then heed Miss Hoyt when she offers advice, even if you don’t agree,” Evan warned.
Miss Hoyt remained silent. If Evan had not known the marquess’s niece was all that was proper, he’d worry that she was about to push him off the gig or sabotage the wedding. Remembering the hat she’d stomped into the mud and the ratafia she’d dumped, Evan thought he’d better glue himself to the lady’s side until the vows were done.
* * *
Honora couldn’t control her tears as Lady Isabell waved farewell to her very young sisters. Everyone wept, except Lord Meath. He simply looked grim.
“I had thought your sisters would be older,” she murmured as Lord Meath turned the gig back toward the manor.
“They’re my half sisters. My mother died giving birth to me when Da was quite young. His mother raised me for a while, then she died of a bilious fever. So I mostly raised myself until Da found my stepmother, Fiona. The girls came along after that, but about five years ago, Fiona passed, and it’s been just us ever since. They’re old enough to look after each other. They’ll be fine now that da is back on his feet again. He’s already found a governess to see to them, and he’s promised to give up the drinking once they take ship to the Americas.”
The girl sounded very certain, and Honora didn’t wish to disillusion her. Perhaps Wexford would turn a new leaf. It happened, sometimes. And it wasn’t as if Lady Isabell had any other choice. Once she was a wealthy marchioness, she could always rescue her sisters if they needed it.
Honora dried her eyes telling herself that, but envisioning the lonely holiday ahead for the little family broke her heart. Belden didn’t waste time or coins celebrating Christmas, so Lady Isabell would have a bleak day unless Honora risked her uncle’s wrath by adding a little cheer. She almost felt a tiny bit better thinking of the ribbons and candles and evergreen boughs she’d had as a child.
When they returned to the manor, all the lanterns along the front were lit and horses were being hastily saddled for a search party. Meath groaned and steered the gig to the front steps rather than around to the stable. “Prepare yourselves for the whirlwind, ladies.”
“Is someone ill?” Lady Isabell asked in puzzlement at all the activity.
“No, this is what happens when someone you care about disappears without warning,” Honora said tartly. “Sally no doubt discovered your empty bed and feared you’d been abducted or worse. You will need to learn to enlist the servants in your escapades in the future.”
“I’ve never had servants,” the lady said faintly. “Or anyone who feared for me. I had no notion. . .”
Meath overrode the confession by drawing the horses to a halt and shouting jovially, “Ahoy, me lads, nice evening for a hunt, is it now?”
Honora pinched her nose as Belden stormed down the steps.
“What is the meaning of this, Meath?” the marquess bellowed. “Had you wanted the gal for yourself, you should have said so.” He turned an angry gaze on Lady Isabell. “And what have you to say for yourself, leaving us all wondering if you ran away with this rake?”
Honora noticed her uncle not only didn’t see her now, but hadn’t worried about her earlier, probably hadn’t even known she wasn’t in her room—or cared.
She really ought to let Meath and Bell take the blow for their unseemly behavior. Belden was entirely capable of casting aside the whole notion of marriage and walking away, and her life could return to normal. But it was almost Christmas, and she couldn’t be so mean-spirited.
And the sight of the young sisters weeping over the cruel parting Belden had demanded had already aroused Honora’s dangerous temper. That her uncle hadn’t worried about her only added fuel to the flames.
“Parker, help me down, please,” she called in her sternest tone to one of the footmen, making her presence fully known to the rest of the party. “Apparently his lordship is too far in his cups to remember his manners and recognize that ladies need assisting.”
Behind her, she heard Lord Meath mutter, but she was in no humor to care about his opinion.
“Honora,” Belden shouted, turning his glare to her as if just now seeing her. “Explain yourself, please.”
“I will not,” she said stoutly.
“I’m of an age to act as I think best. You will apologize to your bride and to Lord Meath for your insults. And then you will send books and fruits and Christmas cakes to her little sisters and acknowledge their importance.”
She did not linger to see how Meath climbed from his impossible position with his gimpy leg, nor how Lady Bell reacted to her betrothed’s displeasure. If Honora was to be consigned to the country, she might as well learn to stand on her own and say what she thought for a change.
Which might mean having a true Christmas holiday, with all the finery and music she had missed these last years. She would think of it as a bonus for a decade of service. She smiled grimly as she made her plans.
* * *
Evan couldn’t hurry after the outraged Miss Hoyt, although he’d prefer to follow the lady and fling Bell to the wolves for her flightiness.
The marquess hadn’t even acknowledged what his brilliant niece had done to protect them with her chaperonage! Without Miss Hoyt, this entire episode would have been a disaster. He’d have to remember to think as society did and not behave like the rural Irish chieftain he’d become these last years.
He waited until Bell’s tears, apologies, and feminine wiles had turned the tide of the marquess’s wrath before excusing himself and going in search of Miss Hoyt. His knee hurt abominably. He wanted nothing more than a stiff drink and his bed after the emotional upheaval of the evening, but he had not sunk so low in his selfishness that he’d let the lady’s actions go unnoticed or unappreciated.
Rapping on her door, he waited to hear if anyone stirred, with the full intention of flinging it open if she denied him. Instead, to his surprise, the door opened, and the lady stood there in partial dishabille, with her gleaming chestnut tresses over her shoulder and a brush in hand. He could only clench his fingers helplessly at all that shiny silk begging to be touched.
Her long-lashed brown eyes widened. She obviously hadn’t been expecting him.
He’d never been caught tongue-tied in his life, but the sight of Miss Hoyt in dishabille had. . . done the opposite of unmanning him. He was a selfish idiot, but he managed to stop the door before she could slam it. “I have come to grovel and to offer gratitude and whatever it might take to show my appreciation for your presence this evening.”
“Then you will go away and leave me alone,” she said curtly, turning her back and retreating to her dressing screen. “You may close the door behind you.”
“I will find out what is keeping your maid as soon as I am done groveling.” He checked the corridor, saw no sign of servants, and entered the room.
“Her absence is quite simple. I trained Sally well. Belden can pay her substantial wages to serve his bride. Once I leave his house, I cannot. She is with Lady Isabell.”
Meath grimaced. “He would turn you away? His own niece?”
“Of course. It was just a matter of time, anyway. After this evening, it will be sooner. He cannot tolerate a female standing up to him. I would have preferred to buffer Lady Isabell for a while, but her tears will work as well. I do not do tears.”
“Thank all the heavens for that,” he said prayerfully. “If I fetch your tea and find a maid for you, will you forgive me enough to speak to me in the morning?”
“This is none of your fault. I know that. You need do nothing except show up at the wedding to give Lady Bell a friendly shoulder to cry on, should she need it. Now, go away.”
“You have beautiful hair, you know.” He wanted to hold her and console her and promise her everything would be fine, but he’d wasted those six months a decade ago in complaining instead of courting. He didn’t have any rights—yet.
He let himself out before she could respond.
* * *
She had beautiful hair? Honora studied the heavy mass in her mirror. The lamplight caused the glass to reflect gleams that reddened the boring brown somewhat, she supposed, but mostly, it was just a nondescript haystack as far as she could see. It was waist-length, but that was hardly anything exciting since she was required to wear it up. Only her maid had seen her like this since childhood.
It gave her an odd tingly feeling in her womanly parts to know Lord Meath had seen her hair down and liked it, but she’d experienced those feelings before. They didn’t lead anywhere.
He’d come to apologize. Now that was a new experience. She didn’t know what he had to apologize for. She’d been the one to act unbecomingly. She should have been the one to stop Lady Bell from running home. She wasn’t entirely certain why she hadn’t. Perhaps she’d wanted a scene. So it really was her place to apologize to him.
But tomorrow was the wedding, and she’d never see him again, so it didn’t matter a great deal. She turned down the lamp and let in a housemaid Meath had apparently sent to help remove her corset. She’d have to start buying less fashionable gowns—or become accustomed to asking her mother or her aunts to help her dress. She really couldn’t waste funds buying new ones.
Lady Bell would have been far happier marrying Meath, Honora was certain. He’d allowed the children to sit in his lap and hug him and mess up his lovely new coat without a word of complaint. He’d even told them silly stories to stop their weeping. Belden would never do any of that. Her uncle was a good and proper gentleman, but he was not meant to hold hands with children—or even his wife. He was much too set in his ways.
She would believe that Meath would never have sent those children away with their reckless sot of a father as Belden had—except the viscount had been the one to encourage the marriage. Men were all senseless fools. She was better off without them. For Lady Bell’s sake, she would have stayed and eased her way into society, but Belden deserved nothing. It would be nice if he regretted it when she was gone, but he wouldn’t. He was surrounded by too many servants to see to his needs, servants she’d trained much too well.
She had always believed that if she kept her life and household in order, she would always be welcome. She hadn’t expected appreciation and gratitude, just a place to call her own. And for ten years, she’d had exactly what she’d wanted.
Tears crept down her cheeks as she realized Meath’s warm words of gratitude were more than she’d experienced since leaving her mother’s house. She hugged herself and wondered how on earth she would go on without the cage she’d locked herself into.
Chapter 5
Evan tugged at his stiff collar, although lifting his arm strained the seams of his tightly tailored frock coat. Instead of the high boots that gave his leg support, he’d worn gentlemanly shoes today, thus endangering anyone in his vicinity. To compensate, he leaned against a door jamb as the bride gracefully descended the stairs to meet her groom.
The staircase had been adorned with boughs of evergreen and red ribbons overnight.
“You rigged her out so she looks like every other lady here,” he murmured to the enticing woman beside him, who held herself as if she might break at any minute. He had a suspicion that she was responsible for the festive setting, if only from the scent of evergreen she carried with her.
“One learns by imitating the best,” Miss Hoyt whispered. “Once she studies the rules, she can figure out how to break them. I never quite discovered that last part.”
He gazed down appreciatively at her petite figure and wished to dishevel her neatly arranged tresses. A few curls dangled temptingly at her nape and temples, but he refrained from tugging them. “Whereas I refused to learn the rules at all and never quite learned to abide by them. Do you need a good teacher?”
“At some point, one must grow up,” she said sternly, watching as the bride crossed the salon toward her groom. The vicar had been rushed in with the special license at the marquess’s behest. Evan suspected Belden was more in a hurry to return to his business than to bed his bride.
“At some point, one must learn to play,” he countered, condemning her uncle for forcing an intelligent woman like Miss Hoyt into this narrow life. “What do you do for fun?”
“Read books,” she
said pertly, nose in air. “Now hush. The service is about to begin.”
Someone had dragged Wexford out of bed, shaved him, cut and pomaded his hair into place, then pried him into a decent coat and linen, but the earl still wore boots and breeches. Evan envied the man for his attire, if not for his hangover. He didn’t recognize the lady standing up with Bell and assumed she was one of Belden’s acquaintances. Perhaps it was good for the lass to know the London ladies.
He still meant to keep an eye on the closest connection he had to a little sister. He glanced down at the inimitable lady at his side. He had hoped she would be Bell’s introduction to society. He suspected from the grim set of her lips that Miss Hoyt had other plans. His stomach twisted in rejection that she might make plans that wouldn’t include him.
“Do you dance?” he whispered as the service ended and well-wishers crowded around the new couple.
She jolted back from wherever her thoughts had taken her and looked at him as if he were crazed. “Can you imagine a gentleman attempting an allemande with me? He’d break his back leaning over. And in a contra dance, he’d have to pick me up and carry me so I could keep up.”
“Excellent, because I could only limp while you skipped and hopped, so we will retreat to the buffet when the musicians play.” He caught her hand and yanked her into the foyer, ordering a footman to bring her pelisse.
“What musicians?” she asked as he helped her into her wrap. “Belden hates musicians.”
“That’s what I figured. But the Irish love musicians, so I sent them as a wedding gift to Bell.” Once the footman opened the door, he limped out to the front stairs where a crowd had begun to gather. In comparison to the elegant velvets and silks in the salon, the women on the lawn wore their Sunday best of dark wools and bonnets, and the men were in boots and tweeds.
Beside him, Miss Hoyt gasped in surprise at the motley lot milling on the grass. He watched her eyes widen and her lovely pink lips turn up in the slightest of smiles. “What have you done, you wicked man?”
Incomparable Lord Meath: A Rebellious Sons NOVELLA Page 5
