Lady Honor’s Debt
The Baxendale Sisters Series
A Regency Novella
by
Maggi Andersen
Copyright
Lady Honor’s Debt
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2015 by Maggi Andersen
Published by Maggi Andersen
Edited by: Amanda Sumner
Cover Artist: Erin Dameron-Hill
By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.
Please Note
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is coincidental and are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the author.
ISBN: 978-0-9942291-0-6
Read an excerpt of Lady Faith Takes a Leap, The Baxendale Sisters Series, Book Two online:
http://www.maggiandersenauthor.com
Table of Contents
Copyright
LADY HONOR’S DEBT
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
About Maggi Andersen
Lady Honor’s Debt
It’s as pleasing to me as, they say,
that golden apple was to the swift girl,
that loosed her belt, too long tied.
Atalanta, Catullus
Chapter One
Highland Manor, Royal Tunbridge Wells, 1822
Lady Honor Baxendale left the cook in the kitchen, mulling over the receipts for the following week’s dishes. Her mother was lying down in her bedroom suffering from one of her megrims. Mama’s nerves had worsened of late, especially since Honor’s stepfather had developed such a bad temper.
The house seemed to be constantly in an uproar.
Honor searched for her younger sister, Faith, and found her curled up in the corner of the cerise-striped chintz sofa in the morning room, beside the canary in its gilded cage.
“You might take a walk in the sunshine, Faith. It does lift one’s spirits.”
After Honor opened the French windows, a perfumed breeze swept in to ruffle the curtains. Beyond the terrace, the azalea bushes flaunted their mass of pink and mauve blossoms. “Why not go outdoors on such a beautiful day?”
Faith gestured to the bird which chirped and hopped about. “I am talking to someone who will listen.”
Honor joined her on the sofa. “I am listening. Don’t I always?”
“Yes. But you cannot help me with this, Honor.”
“You’ve been so horribly bored shut away in the country, dearest. Have you asked Papa to take a house in London for the Season?”
“This morning. I begged him, but he was deaf to my pleas. He means to marry me off to Lord Gillingham. And I have no say in the matter.”
Honor drew in a breath. “With me still unwed, I had hoped he’d give you one Season, at least.”
“It’s business. One of us must marry a Gillingham.”
“I’ll talk to him.” Honor doubted anything she said to her stepfather would hold weight. She was aware that she wasn’t in his favor.
“It won’t help,” Faith said in a doleful tone. “His mind is made up.”
“You get on well with Lord Gillingham.” Honor tried to sound positive while appalled at the notion. She would have to think of a way to prevent it. “He’s a personable man, is he not?”
“He’s an amusing partner to sit beside at dinner, but I don’t love him.” Faith poked a restless finger through the bars of the cage, and the bird hopped along the perch to inspect it. “You are fortunate, Honor. Papa doesn’t force you to marry.”
“I am a lost cause. I would not like to see you become one.”
Faith gave a watery sigh and sniffed. “I shouldn’t like that. Just think, if tragedy hadn’t befallen you, you would be happily married now, with children of your own.”
“Yes, dearest.” Honor patted her sister’s hunched shoulder. She couldn’t shrug off the guilty feeling. She’d been glad when her stepfather failed to consider her attractive enough for his business partner’s son. But Faith should not be denied the excitement of London, with its routs, balls and soireés. Faith was so pretty. She would cause quite a stir, and would enjoy the whirlwind of a Season so much. Honor’s mind skittered away at the thought of her own Season, some years ago, which had ended in disgrace. Faith’s come-out would be far more successful. Why couldn’t her stepfather trust her to find a suitable husband? He seemed too panicked to consider things carefully.
“I shall speak to Mama. We might wrangle a Season out of Father yet.” Honor opened the birdcage and removed the water tray to refill it.
“You are wasting your time.” Faith stood and picked up her shawl. “If anyone needs me I’ll be on that walk.”
****
Brandreth Park, two hours later
A startled deer darted away into the undergrowth as Lord Edward Winborne rode through the leafy glade. He enjoyed his occasional visits to his family’s country seat. Life had settled down somewhat, now that Sibella, the last of his sisters to wed, had married Stathairn. His elder brother, Chaloner, and his wife, Lavinia, seemed content, raising their young brood with less interference since his mother had moved to the dower house. With the exception of his tearaway younger brother, Vaughn, whom one could never be completely sure of, life was, at the moment, free from worry. That is, apart from his mother’s insistence that Edward find a wife.
He was far too old to be managed, but his mother’s force of will was formidable. As the oldest unmarried son, he was now her focus, and she insisted it was time for him to set up a nursery. His mother had been disappointed when he and Olivia had decided not to marry. Mother was certain that he still suffered from a broken heart, when all he really wished for was to forge his career before taking on the responsibility of a family.
Edward didn’t have time to spare for the mating rituals society required of a man in search of a wife, and why it should be necessary for him to marry, now, escaped him. Edward’s two older brothers had sons, so neither he nor his progeny were ever likely to be the Marquess of Brandreth. Had he met a lady he wished to spend his life with, it might be different. Soon to sit for bar exams, he hoped one day, with an impressive body of work behind him, to be invited to take silk as King’s Counsel, and all his energies were directed to that end.
So lost in thought, Edward almost missed the young woman perched on a log by the side of the path. He reined in when her deep sobs caught his notice. Dismounting, he led his horse over to her.
She raised her tearstained face to his, and sniffed.
Edward pulled his handkerchief from a pocket and held it out to her. “Are you lost?”
She took it and dabbed at her eyes. “A Brandreth, I see.”
“That is hardly surprising is it? You are on Brandreth Park Land.”
“Am I?”
He swept off his hat and bowed. “Edwa
rd Winborne. And you are?”
“Faith Baxendale of Highland Manor.” She raised her eyebrows with a censorious expression. “I believe we have met, more than once. I am your neighbor’s daughter, my lord.”
Edward had a vague memory of meeting a brood of sisters from the neighboring estate at one of those appalling assemblies he was forced to attend. “What has happened to distress you, Lady Faith?”
“My heart is breaking,” she murmured.
“Surely not,” Edward said, resisting a smile.
She took a deep, unsteady breath. “Well perhaps not breaking, exactly. But my heart is in danger of it. I’m in hiding.”
“Hiding? From whom?”
She shook her fair ringlets. “My papa has turned into a monster.”
She was very young and quite pretty, if only she’d stop twisting her lips in that fashion. “What manner of monster is he?”
“He wishes me to marry Lord Gillingham.”
Edward rested his foot on the stump. “I know Gillingham.” He was a man of a similar age to him, and of good standing. “Not such a bad fellow, is he?”
“I am too young to marry, my lord.”
“Yes, indeed.” He refrained from asking her how old she was. A few years younger than his sister Maria, he supposed, but Maria was now a wife and the mother of a baby.
“Well, you can’t stay here, can you?” He glanced at the sky. “It’s going to rain.”
She sighed. “I got a stone in my shoe, and I’ve bruised my foot.”
He held out his hand. “Then allow me to escort you home.”
“Thank you.” Standing, she shook out her skirts and offered him back his damp handkerchief.
“Please keep the handkerchief. You may have need of it,” he said, noting her downcast expression. He hated seeing women weep. Having four sisters, he considered himself an expert at predicting the vapors.
Edward brought his horse over to the log and helped her to perch sideways across the saddle. Taking hold of the reins, he tried to remember more details of her family, but his memory failed him. “I seem to recall you have sisters.” He clicked at the horse and pulled the rein.
“There are five of us. We have no brothers.” Grasping the horse’s mane, she rattled off their names.
Edward skirted a rock on the path. “All married, I gather?”
That produced a stern huff. “Of course not. You met us recently at the local fete your mother opened in the village.” Her tone condemned his lapse. “Mercy is only fourteen, and Charity is sixteen. Hope is seventeen. She’s touring the Continent with Aunt Amelia. Honor is the oldest. She should marry before me, but she prefers to stay at home helping Mama, rather than go to soireés. Honor reads books and writes poetry. Is it fair that I must get married at eighteen? I don’t wish Honor to marry if she doesn’t wish to. But cannot I wait and enjoy a London Season?”
“I always thought a Season was designed for that purpose?” Edward believed it the aim of all women to find a husband. Honor sounded intelligent and independent, as was his former fiancée. Olivia had married a considerably older and wealthier man than Edward after explaining she needed to concentrate on her writings and not be distracted by a more passionate, young man. Well, he’d learned a painful lesson, and his wife, when he chose her, would be very different indeed.
“Love is the aim of everyone, is it not?” Faith asked. “But not everyone manages to find that special person.” Her voice filled with frustration. “Especially when one cannot choose for oneself.”
It seemed quite a sensible observation for one so young. Edward had nothing to add, so he remained silent. He was reassured that Lady Faith required no answer when she continued her one-sided conversation. “Come-outs appear to be such fun.” She gave another regretful sigh. “I want to dance and flirt and make my own choice of a life partner.”
Edward thought it an entirely acceptable thing to wish for. He disliked seeing women pushed into a marriage against their will. It chilled him when he recalled how his sister Sibella had suffered when a suitor had been chosen for her. Thankfully, she was now married to the man she adored.
As he led the horse across a meadow, he allowed Faith to rattle on about her sisters without interruption. They reached the boundary between their estates and, moments later, approached the rear of the manor house. Leading Faith on the horse, Edward crossed the cobbles into the stable block, where a groom ran out to greet them.
Edward helped Faith down. “I’ll leave you here, my lady.”
“Oh, but you must come in,” she said. “Otherwise, I shall be in such trouble.”
“I doubt my presence will be of assistance. But if you wish it.” Edward sighed inwardly. He hoped he wouldn’t be in trouble himself; his intentions might be misconstrued. It happened so easily these days that a man had to be careful.
“Take care of my horse,” he said to the groom. “I shan’t be long.”
The lady of the house rushed forward when they entered the front hall. “I’ve been so worried. Where have you been, Faith?” Lady Baxendale gazed at him with uncertainty. “You are one of the Brandreth men, are you not?”
“Lord Edward, Lady Baxendale.” Edward bowed. She was a thin, harassed-looking woman with a certain faded, blonde beauty. Having five unmanageable daughters still in her care was most likely the cause of it. Edward’s mother had suffered the same circumstance, although she was possibly made of sterner stuff than was Lady Baxendale.
Her ladyship’s cheeks flushed and she dipped in a hasty curtsey. “Oh, my goodness, so you are indeed. Forgive me; you and your brothers look rather alike! You are all tall with black hair and green eyes! So unusual,” she murmured. “And we haven’t seen much of you in the last few years. I heard your mother had two weddings to organize and has two new grandchildren. She must be exhausted!”
“Mother,” Faith said, tugging her sleeve, “Lord Edward brought me home when it looked like rain. I wandered onto Brandreth land.”
“I do wish you would be more prudent, Faith. It will not do! Wandering around the countryside like a gypsy!” Lady Baxendale arranged her features into a smile, but worry clouded her eyes. “How very kind of you, my lord. You will be in need of refreshment. Please come into the parlor.”
Edward was keen to leave, but manners forbade it. He followed Lady Baxendale into the pleasantly furnished room, where the sun streamed through French windows.
“Faith, your father is very angry with you. Before he left home, he gave instructions for you to wait his return in your bedchamber,” her mother said.
Faith’s mouth turned down at the corners in a mulish manner, but she exited the room without a murmur.
“Please sit, my lord. May I offer you tea?” Lady Baxendale hurried from the room before he answered.
But for the two grey cats slumbering in the sun on the carpet, Edward found himself alone. The room had an untidy but appealing lived-in look, something he wasn’t used to. Bluebells in matching vases decorated the mantel, a book on art rested on a table, along with a sewing basket, and sheet music lay open on the pianoforte, with other sheets scattered over the top, as if the pianist had been interrupted.
While contemplating his return to his rooms in London on the morrow, and the work that awaited him, he studied the bright oil paintings hanging on the walls, one of lilacs in the wood and another of the river. They were similar in style; the same hand had painted them—perhaps a young person, for they had a certain naiveté and lively rawness.
He was examining a painting of pink roses when a tall, slim young woman came through the door. Edward knew who it was immediately by her spectacles.
She crossed the flowery carpet and curtseyed gracefully. “Lady Honor, my lord. Mother asked me to entertain you in her absence.” She gestured to a damask chair. “Please sit down. I have ordered tea.”
“How do you do,” he said politely, wondering when he might take his leave.
Lady Honor sat on the blue sofa opposite him, ankles crossed.
She wore her hair pulled back from her brow with no curls to soften the arrangement. Her gown was of some heavy cloth in a shade of brown Edward didn’t care for. It was evident in every line of her body that she’d rather not have to entertain him. A very nice body it was, too, that the ugly gown failed to disguise.
“You found Faith on Brandreth Park land?”
“Ah, yes, I’m afraid that in her distress she had lost her way.”
“She was distressed?” Her mouth settled into a firm line.
Dash it. He had been indiscreet. He didn’t wish to give Faith away to her serious sister. “I’m sure she can explain the reason for her emotional upset better than I.” He shrugged and smiled. “We men don’t always understand these things.”
Her fine, straight dark brows drew together. He realized he’d just made things worse and braced himself for disapproval.
“You believe women to be more emotional than men?” she asked in a flat tone of voice.
“Yes, and better for it,” he said quickly.
“I must speak to Faith,” she said, gazing at the door and still frowning.
“I believe you’ll find her in her bedroom,” he offered, approving of her concern for her younger sister. He glanced at the window, hoping for the weather to turn so he might make a quick retreat.
A maid came in with the tea tray. She placed it on a rosewood side table at Lady Honor’s elbow. “Thank you, Anne. Oh, you’ve forgotten the teaspoons.”
“Lud, sorry, my lady.” The maid darted from the room.
“Do you take milk in your tea, my lord?”
“Lemon, thank you.”
Lady Honor might have been the lady of the house. Required to entertain a strange male alone, there was nothing coquettish or hesitant in her manner. Her slim fingers grasped the silver tongs and added a slice of lemon to his cup. “Might I tempt you with a sandwich or a piece of seed cake, my lord?”
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