Honoria and the Family Obligation

by Alicia Cameron

  It amused him that the fate of Benedict should be the sting to his sleeping conscience. His father, had repaid the indiscretions of Wilbert’s youth by leaving not only the entailed property to Ranalph, but every other property and penny as well. The will left him only his father’s ring, with a coarse adjuration not to exceed the pawnshop’s term before he retrieved it. Apart from that, Wilbert had a monthly pittance that his mother had left him (which may have allowed him to live in a country cottage, keeping goats or some such thing) and his sense of injustice had put his conscience to sleep for the next twenty-five years. He went to the devil, secretly grateful for his brother’s allowance to him, but the old ill-usage at his father’s judgment and his falling in, at an early age, with the Prince Regent and his friends, had allowed him to continue a ruinous path. He lived with the knowledge that Ranalph would have to say no sometime, and he had been secretly resigned. When his brother helped him out again and again, Wilbert chose to suppose that though he had a growing brood of children (of whom Wilbert was surprisingly fond) the estate must be richer than might be supposed. And of course there was the occasional big win as his skills increased. But he had lived this life long after the attraction of it had palled, long after his youthful rebellion had passed. But he was lazy and selfish and continued on his comfortable but self-disparaging way, his soul eaten away by a hidden guilt.

  Until Benedict had been left for dead in a dark alley, caused, in part, by Wilbert’s inability to act in any but his own selfish interests.

  It did not seem right that through this he was embarking on a new life, with a woman who had been his friend for a lifetime and who he now acknowledged might be the woman of his dreams. That under the arrangement he offered her he might find, at last, the love that his brother had had in his marriage. Shouldn’t he have to pay? But giving up casual affairs with married women or light-skirts, or the same card parties with his cronies, didn’t seem to give up much. He’d thought too, that he might have to leave society as the patron of a gaming house, but that at least he could offer his countess the only real talent he had - a knowledge of gaming. But as it turned, he was forbidden even this slight sacrifice, for he was to be a kept man once more. Husband to a very rich woman. A pity he thought, raising an eyebrow, but he expected he could live with it.

  But first he would find who was responsible for Benedict’s injury, and God knew what he would then do. It might end up with a trip to Holburn. A just God might make him pay yet.

  Serena was tending to her brother that night. Though servants and a nurse were on hand, the ladies: mother, sisters and friend, had decided between them that they would continue to tend him in shifts at night when he was at his most fretful and his fever was at its worst. Their familiar voices seemed to calm him, and as Papa was unable not to fall asleep in the chair, and Mr Allison, the lieutenant and Mr Scribster were nearly strangers, all offered aid from them was denied.

  Benedict was having one of the nightmares that his fever caused and he turned and twisted in his sheets, trapping himself in the folds. Serena was trying to untie him when he grabbed her arm and said ‘Jenny! He shall not strike you again!’ Serena gasped, appalled, but she put her hand on his grasping hand and said mechanically, ‘No. He shall not,’ whilst a great many things clicked into place. Had this occurred on some business of Jenny’s? She was not, then, in love - but guilty. Serena did not spend a second considering that it was Genevieve’s fault - she knew Benedict’s protective instinct too well. But surely it could not be Sumner who had struck his wife? How could that be?

  She mopped his brow and straightened his sheets by means of brute force and turned his pillow to assuage the fever. He calmed down, falling into a deeper sleep, whilst Serena thought and thought, twisting her hands together as she did so.

  Mama came to relieve her at 4 am, and was so sleepy herself that her usually alert response to her children’s emotions escaped her and Serena was permitted to depart before she had to answer questions that she had no answer to. As she slipped out into the hall she heard the click of a ball against another and through an open door saw Mr Allison playing billiards by the light of two candelabra. She moved towards the stairs, but her host had heard her and called her name. ‘Miss Serena!’

  She paused and turned to him, aware that her face might betray her. Veiling her emotions was not her most strong talent, as Mama often reminded her.

  ‘I do not wish to delay you from your bed, but only tell me how the patient is.’

  He was near her now and with a terrible understanding, she wanted to throw herself on his chest and divest herself of all her worries. But he was not yet her brother and of course, she could not.

  ‘He is better, but still restless, I’m afraid.’

  He held out his hand to her unconsciously and in the same manner she took it. ‘You are more worried than that description suggests. You had better tell me before you worry yourself to death. I expect that once you have said it, you can put it from you.’

  She smiled at him. ‘I don’t think it is my right to speak of it. I believe Benedict said something in his fever that he would not wish me to know.’

  ‘Yet you worry. Is it to do with his attack? Are you still afraid for him?’

  ‘No, it is just that I think Benedict might have been acting for someone and his behaviour recently might be explained if I could just put the pieces together. And perhaps it is related to his attack.’

  ‘Come with me into the green salon, sit just a little, you are too overborne to sleep right now. Tell me what you feel able to.’

  What on earth, thought Serena, made Honoria afraid of this kind and charming man. Her hand trembled in his and he dropped it at once, but they moved together easily to the room.

  Serena frowned. ‘You do not know my brother Benedict well. But apart from his annoyingly teasing disposition and his recent fascination with Mr Brummel’s manners, he is the bravest person I know. Whenever an animal or a person is in danger, he throws himself into the fray to save them. He cannot help it. And I think he learned something about a friend in danger and of course, he has just thrown himself into it. With no heed at all for his own safety. But I cannot quite understand - or indeed believe - what he said to me tonight. I might be all out in my understanding,’ she looked into his eyes anxiously. ‘Indeed, I think I must be.’

  ‘I fancy your uncle knows something of it.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes. Uncle Wilbert! I must visit him tomorrow.’

  ‘Might you let me speak on your behalf? I believe you must get your rest and your uncle might speak more freely to a gentleman. Even me, if I am able to say I ask on your behalf.’

  ‘And you, Mr Allison? Will you find out what he says and then keep it from me merely because I am a lady? I would rather talk myself.’ Her eyes sparkled and he was glad to see it, it drove the worry from them.

  ‘I promise you that I will tell you exactly what I find out, Miss Fenton, if you will let me serve you thus.’

  ‘I think you might.’ She looked at him with her head tilted, considering. ‘And will you tell me his exact words?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ She gasped. ‘Your uncle has a choice turn of phrase at times, not at all suitable for young ladies. But I will tell you his meaning.’

  She laughed and rose, holding her hand out once more. ‘Thank you. You will make the most wonderful brother, I think.’

  He flushed and a moment later she did too. ‘Please forgive me and forget my stupid tongue. I just mean that you are behaving as my brother might- oh, I’m going to bed now. So sorry.’ She dropped his hand and ran from the room.

  Lady Cynthia left Benedict’s room to fetch her work from the salon, only to see Serena dash from it, and to see, through the open door, such a stricken look on Mr Allison’s face that she decided to retreat. She moved back to Benedict’s room, closing the door softly. Her son slept peacefully. But it was quite clear that she needed to pay more attention to her daughters. She had been uneasily aware for some time t
hat this visit was going slightly astray, even forgetting the attack on Benedict. Some odd moments between the young people, some behaviours that she had seen unconsciously, and yet been too preoccupied to pursue, now gave her pause. She usually prided herself on understanding her children, on seeing what they might not wish to betray. Everything from Edward taking the blame for the cricket ball that had destroyed the library window to protect his younger brother, to thirteen-year-old Honoria’s tendre or infatuation for the handsome new curate (thankfully only a visiting prelate) - a mother knew all. She was on the alert now. She would watch and wait.

  Lady Cynthia’s plans for keeping a regard on her girls was overturned when she arose from her few hours’ sleep the next day. She nibbled a breakfast roll because she must, as an example to her daughters and Genevieve, all of whom seemed to have lost their appetites to the uncertain hours of nursing Benedict. She was adjuring them to do likewise, when a letter in the very precise hand of Nurse, of Fenton Manor, was handed to her.

  ‘What next is the emergency?’ said Sir Ranalph cheerfully. ‘Does she think Angelica a servant of Satan because she hid her tatting?’ He stopped because a line had crossed his wife’s lovely forehead.

  ‘Measles!’ said her ladyship, ‘They all have them!’

  ‘Oh!’ cried Genevieve.

  ‘Good-oh,’ said her husband, ‘Get ’em over with.’ But he grasped her hand comfortingly, for everyone from the Yorkshire set remembered the death of Genevieve’s baby sister ten years ago, of the same disease.

  Honoria held Genevieve’s hand below the table. Scribster and Allison exchanged a look.

  ‘They are in good hands, surely, Ma’am?’ said Mr Allison.

  ‘Oh the best,’ said her ladyship, ‘but I must go. When little Cedric is particularly ill he wants his mama, I am certain.’ She rose and said what was necessary to her host, going quickly from the room, followed by her husband.

  Once in their bedchamber she said, ‘Benedict is better now, the fever almost broke. I am right to leave, my love, am I not?’

  He grasped her hands and sat her down. ‘Benedict is as strong as a horse. I must own I was worried, but now he speaks quite sensibly at times. He has received no lasting injury I am sure.’

  She smiled and summoned her maid, making busy with her packing and issuing orders at the same time.

  Everyone else must remain here until Benedict was quite well. Sir Ranalph must remain to make the girls’ stay respectable. He must order a chaise directly, she would make the journey in as few stages as possible.

  ‘Should not one or other of the girls accompany you, my dear?’

  ‘Oh, no, no. I think not.’

  ‘I don’t think that anyone is thinking of a match at this moment, my lady.’

  ‘No, very likely not. But I do not need them and Benedict does.’

  ‘Benedict has quite enough nurses, I believe. Never has a poor boy been so beset by women.’

  His daughters chose this time to make their appearance.

  ‘Oh no, Mama. Are you going alone?’

  ‘Nonsense - a maid will accompany me and a coachman too.’

  ‘May not I come Mama?’ said Serena in a rather desperate voice. ‘Please.’

  ‘No, no.’ Lady Cynthia regarded her closely, noticing the red rimmed eyes of exhaustion - or maybe something else. Would it be better to take her? All of this was so strange. But her girls could take no hurt with their father present. Well, nearly no hurt. Her head swum with the glances that she had seen and had not had the energy to consider. Glances between the young people and behind their backs. She could make no sense of it now, she ached to get to Cedric and the others, but some instinct told her that a stew was boiling on the pot and it would be best not to stir it till it thickened. When her head failed her, a mother always relied on her heart.

  She shooed the girls away and left instructions with her husband that troubled his integrity greatly. Men never understood when a little manipulation was necessary.

  When she had kissed her secretive daughters goodbye, was dressed warmly (for it was a wet summer day) and tucked into the carriage seat, she took a small silver notebook and pencil from her reticule and strove to make sense of everything she had seen that did not fit into the original plan for the visit to Mr Allison.

  A. Stiff and formal with H. Or overly attentive. Or as distant from her in a room as he could be. Easy with all of us. Fought with Serena? (her dreadful tongue at fault?)

  H.&S not so often together as their wont. (a spat? - so unlike them) H. stiffly encouraging to A. (her shyness, her awareness of his intentions? R right. We should not have told her) Very friendly with the L. (a tendre? I hope not - no money and very little sense)

  S. Friendly with the L. But obviously despises his intellect. Friendly with A. - but last night? Until recently - maybe the last three days, she was the making of the party.

  G. Deeply affected by Benedict’s attack. I hardly like to think why. But her regard pity? Guilt? Not romantic. I believe. But G. hard to read.

  The L. Fond of both girls? Rather longer looks at H.

  The Lieutenant was a fly in the ointment. How big a fly was yet to be decided. In all respects, Honoria should have been in love with Mr Allison who had shown himself to be truly kind as well as rich and handsome. And seeing Honoria care for her sick brother, seeing her character matching her beauty, should have sealed the deal before this. But in hoping Honoria would be more relaxed with Mr Allison, she realised that she had ignored this suave man of the world’s stupid behaviour around her daughter. She became quite cross with him. It was beyond believable that he had reverted to a teenager, only able to behave clumsily before his beloved. But what had changed his mind, and if it had changed, why had he invited them all to stay in this absurd fashion?

  Honour! She thought suddenly. Whenever a man behaves absurdly - like paying his gambling debts to a Duke who would hardly know the difference, rather than a tailor’s bill which might very well bankrupt the poor tradesman - it was a tenet of the male honour code, so far from a woman’s comprehension.

  But what changed his mind? Her head ached and she had to stop and sleep before the fears for her little ones took over her whirling head. She would drive herself mad otherwise.

  In all her cogitation, however, it never occurred to her that she had left one of the party completely out of her equations…

  The gentleman about whom she had forgotten spent an unhappy morning trying to get Honoria on her own. It irked him to be part of this absurd imbroglio, rather than a spectator. He narrowly missed taking Honoria for a ride after her mother’s departure, spiked by the dashing Lieutenant. ‘Can I take you ladies out for your necessary breath of air? I have ordered the tilbury.’ He knew, of course, that Serena was determined to sit with her brother this morning. She had said so earlier at breakfast, when she had, with great attention, avoided his friend’s eye. Scribster had little to say to that now, he found his interest in his friend’s problem decreased, but he was dashed if he was going to spend all morning awaiting Honoria in the hallway, or lurk around her bedroom in the hopes of a conversation. Apart from anything, if he became in any way obvious in his intentions, she would shy away. He was well aware that his sole charm for her was to be able to speak freely to one of no importance, and he hadn’t fully worked out the winning lecture that would convince her to marry an ugly, unpleasant fellow with a moderate income. So when Allison put on his driving coat, he asked if he could accompany him on his errand.

  His friend hesitated and then said, ‘Best not Gus, I have a commission for a lady.’

  How fetching lemons, or yet another cordial to try on Benedict was in any way secret escaped Scribster, but he merely nodded at his friend’s offer to drop him at the club. He was sure he would lurk if left in Grosvenor Square alone. People in love, as he had often observed, but never understood till now, were unalterably stupid.

  Honoria was his friend, the first true female friend he had had since his sister.
Her beauty had shaken him when he had first seen her, but the beauty of many young women had shaken him and he maintained his sang froid - he merely switched his attention elsewhere. But corrupting Honoria’s martyrdom had been so enjoyable that he had dropped his defences. They had crumbled when she was in his arms. If he were a better man he would wish her to have her desire - Prescott. A good man - but not someone who could be trusted to look after a dog long term, never mind a wife. He could see the fictional dog in his mind’s eye - a little Jack Russell, white with a black eye and a wagging tail, approaching his empty food bowl. The brave Lieutenant would probably succumb to an excess of sensibility and cry at the sad fate of his poor doggie companion. But crying wouldn’t feed him.

  Most of Prescott’s grandeur was provided ‘on account’ and his wife’s must be the same. So he excused himself from wanting Honoria to make Darnley Prescott a better man. But he could find no such excuse to stop her picking his friend. He, too, was a good man, and when she got to know him (when Rowley finally abandoned his distant manner) she would be enchanted by him. She would be a great lady, she would have every elegance and amusement a female could desire and her own affectionate nature would ensure she would love him soon. Serena, the fly in the ointment, would come out next season and take the town by storm. She would marry well and Allison would forget her. So - encourage Honoria to wed Rowley, that is what a good man would do. Unfortunately, he had long recognised himself to be a very, very bad man.

  Serena’s face was usually an open book to Honoria, and however she tried to hide her feelings, there was too much intimacy between them for her sister not to guess at her pain. ‘Serena, what is the matter?’ asked Honoria as she fetched her shawl for the carriage ride with Lieutenant Prescott. ‘My dear, please tell me.’

  Serena was not sure of the exact nature of her troubles. But one portion she could pass to her sister. ‘Benedict said something in his fever last night. But it concerns another, and I fear I must not divulge it. Oh, but Orry, I wish that I had gotten it wrong.’