Lady Honor's Debt

by Maggi Andersen

  Honor molded her pillow into a comfortable shape. She rested her head with a tiny smile. “It’s late, dearest. I’m sleepy, aren’t you?”

  “Indeed.” Faith yawned. “I wonder what Mr. Warne’s given name is?”

  “It’s Thomas, not that it matters.”

  “Thomas. Tom. He has lovely teeth.”

  All the better to bite her with, Honor thought grimly. “Never be alone with him, Faith. Promise me.”

  Faith murmured a sleepy, indecipherable reply.

  Honor turned on her side and closed her eyes. Edward had admitted to a brotherly concern for her. Why did he wish her to alert him before she acted? Did he plan to stop her? She had half a mind not to tell him.

  After breakfast, a glance at the sky revealed barely a cloud in the endless blue. Honor chewed her bottom lip. She’d prayed the heavens would open, as they did so reliably in London, and put paid to any prospect of riding with the duke.

  The breeze strengthened during the morning, but the sky remained clear as she and Faith changed into their riding habits. “Stay close to me, whatever happens,” Honor repeated to her sister as she pulled on her tan York kid gloves.

  “Have no fear; I won’t leave you alone with the duke.” Faith twirled before the mirror in her sky-blue habit, revealing an eagerness to ride not expressed in the past.

  Honor’s concern was more for Faith than for herself. In her opinion, Mr. Warne had not behaved in a gentlemanly fashion during their card game. He had touched Faith’s hand several times in the guise of offering her advice, gazed unashamedly into her eyes, and whispered close to her ear with his hand on her arm. As her stepfather’s financial woes were not common knowledge, Honor didn’t trust Mr. Warne not to seize an opportunity to place Faith in a compromising position and press his suit. She had questioned Faith and found that, beyond a desire for a light flirtation to enliven a dull house party, Warne meant nothing to her. For once, Honor wished her stepfather would ride with them, but he complained of a sore back. She suspected he wanted to give Morven the opportunity to pursue her.

  While the grooms assisted her and her sister onto their horses, the duke, Edward, and Mr. Warne walked their mounts around the stable yard. Aware that she would have to be on her guard every minute to avoid trouble, Honor tensed. Sensing her unease, her horse tossed its head and sidled over the cobbles.

  “Give the animal a good whack with your crop, my dear. Show him who’s boss,” the duke called.

  Without adopting his advice, she steadied her mount.

  They walked their horses through the grounds, skirting the formal gardens, and took a path leading into the woods. “You find my gardens pleasing?” the duke asked. “I have rare blooms brought in from the Asian continent. You won’t find them outside of the West Country.”

  “They’re glorious, Your Grace,” Honor said. The gardens were the only thing she did find pleasing at Morven Hall.

  “We will take luncheon beside a grotto a few miles from here,” he said.

  “I’ve never seen a grotto, Your Grace,” Faith said. “What is it?”

  “A pool formed by a natural spring,” he replied. “You must learn patience, Lady Faith. You shall see it for yourself in a short while.”

  The narrow woodland path snaked around outcrops of Cornish granite and forced them to ride single file, with the duke leading the way. Sunlight from the leafy canopy danced across the shadows. Oaks and elms bordered the path, and the humid air was dank. Honor studied Edward in his buckskins and top-boots; he looked good in the saddle. He’d barely said two words to her this morning. Perhaps he was bored stiff; the duke was less than charming, and she had hardly been bright company. He must be used to far more stimulating conversation. Might he miss a lady in London? The thought brought a surprising pang.

  When the path widened, the duke dropped back to join Honor. He directed the others to ride on. “We shall join them presently,” he said in a husky tone.

  A lump of dread settled in her throat. “I am impatient to see the grotto, Your Grace. Your description has made it sound most appealing.”

  “And so you shall,” he said smoothly, “But—”

  “You must tell us more about the Cornish flora and fauna, Your Grace.” Faith had turned her horse to join them. “The terrain and the climate differ so much from where we live, it might be another country,” she said, revealing knowledge gained from a guide book on their journey from London.

  “Later, perhaps.”

  Ahead, Edward and Mr. Warne had reined in where the path divided into two. “We weren’t sure which fork to take,” Edward said.

  The duke’s eyes narrowed. “The path to the left. As I instructed.”

  “Ah.” Edward nodded. “Mr. Warne and I could not agree.” With a smile of apology, he turned his horse’s head.

  “We must all stay together,” Faith said with a sideways glance at Mr. Warne. “Someone might get lost.”

  Honor was hot, her stomach in knots. Could the duke have intended to lead her down the path to the right, away from the party? Morven was clearly displeased. His glowering expression silenced further conversation as they rode on.

  Honor’s shoulders grew stiff. The creak of leather, the thud of the horses’ hooves on the mossy ground, and the trill and flutter of disturbed birds were the only sounds to break the pained silence. The woods thinned to a few straggling trees, and they emerged onto wild moorland dotted with gorse and broom.

  The duke pointed to a pile of rocks in the distance, a half mile or so away. “The grotto lies ahead.”

  Eager to put some distance between her and the surly duke, Honor urged her horse into a canter, and the others followed suit. They raced across the ground.

  Once they reached the rocky pile, the sea breeze grew stronger, and a rutted path threaded its way across the waving grassland toward the seashore. They halted their horses at the grotto, a wide pool rimmed by lustrous ferns, where water flowed from a spring bubbling up inside a shallow cave. A faint mist hung over the water, and a marble statue of a partially clad Greek goddess decorated the cave’s entrance.

  The statue’s pert nipples brought heat to Honor’s cheeks. “How picturesque,” she said, her faint voice lost on the breeze, as the duke clamped his hands at her waist to assist her dismount. “It looks cold and deep.”

  “Not at all,” the duke said, securing the reins to a post provided for the purpose. “The Gulf Stream maintains a warm temperature all year around.”

  Edward peeled off a glove and crouched to swirl his hand through the water, sending ripples across the surface. “Remarkable. Warm as toast.”

  “Is it beneficial to immerse yourself in these waters, Your Grace?” Mr. Warne asked.

  “Better than anything Bath has to offer. This is the perfect place to swim as nature intended.” Morven’s speculative gaze swept over Honor. “The duchess was quite the nymph.”

  There was a pause. Honor’s mouth dried as she dealt with the unwelcome image of the duke frolicking naked in the pool.

  “I believe our luncheon has arrived.” Edward gestured to where two liveried servants struggled down the hill. They lugged a large wicker hamper between them, their faces crimson.

  As several more servants followed, sweating profusely, Honor hoped they’d come by vehicle and not walked all the way from the house. One footman spread a large rug on the ground as another unfolded chairs, arranging them around a trestle table. While the hamper was unpacked, they served chilled wine in crystal glasses.

  Mr. Warne accepted a glass of champagne. “I must say, Your Grace, you do spoil us.”

  “Some people are worth spoiling.” Morven’s gaze rested on Honor.

  Honor gulped down a mouthful of champagne, and fought the urge to cough as the bubbles tickled the back of her throat. She suspected the duke’s thinly veiled eagerness to charm her would last only until he had her where he wanted her. She was equally determined that it would never happen.

  She glanced over at her sist
er, who was speaking quietly to Mr. Warne. What Thomas Warne might have in mind was another matter entirely.

  Chapter Ten

  They all sat around the table eating cold chicken and salad while Warne and Faith discussed how much they’d enjoyed Edmund Kean in De Montford at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, and how well lit it was by gaslight. Edward watched the play of emotions on Honor’s face. Her brow puckered as she listened to her sister, and she barely ate a bite. The duke was clearly smitten by her. It was obvious he planned to make her his duchess. By all accounts, her stepfather was of the same mind, having allowed her and Faith to ride unchaperoned. Despite his surly manner, for which Edward felt a little to blame, the duke had entertained them royally. Honor would not have heard the unsavory rumors about the duke; might she eventually be persuaded, or worse, forced? That possibility filled Edward with dismay.

  He had never met anyone so fiercely independent. Honor had only taken what she must from him and fought his attempt to do more at every turn. She was what his mother would call a “game girl.” He hoped Honor would outsmart the duke, who in his opinion wasn’t the brightest of men.

  The conversation moved on to Beethoven and the influence of Hayden and Mozart on his music as they partook of strawberries and cream and sipped chilled champagne. The duke had gone to a great deal of trouble and expense, despite the object of his marital hopes remaining coolly indifferent. Perhaps it didn’t matter to him whether Honor wanted him or not. Perhaps he preferred that she didn’t. Edward had spied the fire of challenge in the duke’s eyes. Rumor had it that he was a man who found pleasure in breaking a horse’s or a woman’s spirit. Edward’s jaw clenched with frustration. He despised rumor mongers, and if he told Honor what he’d heard about the duke, he would become one. He’d been frustrated one way or another since he’d met Lady Honor, it seemed.

  As the servants removed their meal, Faith pointed toward the cliff. “Is the seashore far from here, Your Grace?”

  “Only a few minutes’ walk,” he said with a pleased smile.

  “I should like to collect seashells. Coming, Honor?”

  Honor stood. “What a lovely idea.”

  “We shall join them presently, my dear,” the duke said with a hand on Honor’s arm. “I haven’t had the opportunity to speak with you.”

  Faith frowned. “I’ll wait for you, then, Honor.”

  “I wish to talk to your sister alone,” the duke said with a cold stare.

  Warne jumped to his feet. “I’ll accompany you, Lady Faith.”

  From behind her glasses, Honor’s gaze searched Edward’s. “You must go too, Lord Edward,” she said in a firm tone. Was she seeking to be alone with the duke? A swift and surprising stab of disappointment brought him up short. Surely he wasn’t jealous. Didn’t he want an end to this ridiculous idea of hers? She had displayed a surprising aptitude for the game of cards last evening, but still…

  It occurred to him that Honor wished him to keep Faith safe from Warne. He hadn’t missed Thomas’s unrestrained behavior during their card game. He disliked leaving Honor with the duke, however. He stood, torn with indecision, but could not ignore Honor’s entreaty. “I’ll enjoy a walk after that splendid meal.”

  Keeping Faith in sight, Edward strolled along the path after her and Warne. He made poor company, he admitted, cursing under his breath. He had no option but to trust Honor could deal with the duke, whom he was sure would take liberties. He planned to pile shells into Faith’s arms and whisk her back to the grotto. Then they could all ride back to the house and put an end to this uncomfortable outing.

  Before he descended the cliff path to the seashore, he turned to look back at the grotto. The duke stood close to Honor as the last of the servants disappeared over the hill.

  With a growl, Edward leaped down the path onto wet sand, where a strong wind promptly blew off his hat. He grabbed at his beaver and jammed it on. Violent waves broke onto the pebbled shore and retreated in a swirl of foam, the noise deafening. Sea spray showered them. Faith hurried over to him, a hand on her hat, her habit flapping in the wind. “There are no shells to be found, my lord,” she said, her eyes imploring. “Mr. Warne wishes to walk farther along the shore.”

  “What do you wish to do, my lady?”

  She rubbed her arms. “It’s rather chilly.”

  “This will keep you warm.” Warne stripped off his coat. As he placed it around her shoulders, he jerked his head at Edward to suggest he make himself scarce.

  “Lady Faith is still shivering, Thomas,” Edward said. “This is not a good idea. We will give the duke a few moments of privacy and then return.”

  Thomas glowered at him, his jaw jutting mulishly. Edward sighed. It would not be a pleasant trip back to London.

  Returning to the grotto, they rounded the rocky outcrop. Honor stood beside the pool where the duke, water dripping from his hair, his black clothes clinging to his stringy frame, clambered awkwardly onto the bank like a large seal. Morven was speechless, his face white with fury.

  “I’m afraid His Grace has had an accident,” Honor said, her voice flat, a closed expression on her face. Edward had no idea what she was thinking, but as Warne scurried over to assist the duke, he fought the desperate urge to laugh.

  ****

  They left Cornwall at cock’s crow. The trip home to Tunbridge Wells was excruciating. Arms folded, her stepfather glowered at her from his corner of the carriage. Her mother twittered on to fill the silence, and Faith sent Honor reassuring smiles, her eyes anxious.

  She couldn’t resist a tiny thrill of satisfaction at the outcome. If she had a chance, she would do it again. When the duke fired lewd questions at her and asked if she was still a virgin, she was appalled. Would she agree to certain conditions if they married? Then he had attempted to pull her close as he made his demands clear. She had no choice other than to push him into the water.

  Their ride back to the duke’s house had seemed like a dream. Amazed by her audacity, Honor’s knees shook, and she could hardly speak. The only things she remembered with any clarity were Edward’s calm green eyes and his wink from behind the duke’s back. Outraged into silence, Morven had ridden off and left them. Then Edward had taken control and ushered them safely back to the house, giving short shrift to Warne’s offer to escort Faith.

  When the duke withdrew his suit, Honor had been unable to mask her relief. Ever the gentleman, her stepfather refused to discuss the matter with her in another man’s house. A chilly silence descended. She knew it would not last; his face was as red as a turkey-cock’s. For some odd reason, remembering Edward’s wink sustained her when only Faith took her side.

  While she and Faith had shared a cup of chocolate as they supervised the maid’s packing of their trunks, Faith had admitted Mr. Warne was not to be trusted. Honor was relieved. She knew from bitter experience how green girls could make tragic mistakes that could last a lifetime. “Edward, however, is a gentleman,” Faith said. “He may not have a dukedom, or perhaps be very rich, but he would make you a splendid husband. And he likes you a good deal,” she added.

  “I’m sure I don’t know how you came to that conclusion,” Honor snapped. “It’s nonsensical.”

  “I believe I’m a good judge of people,” Faith said in an offended tone.

  “You are, Faith,” Honor muttered, contrite. “I was so proud when you distracted the duke on that dreadful ride to the grotto. Your assessment of Mr. Warne’s character is entirely accurate. But Lord Edward looks upon me as he would a sister. He told me so,” she added, worried that she’d ruffled Faith’s pride. Faith was not like her, and she would not want her to be. Faith’s future lay in an entirely different direction. Honor would not trust her own future to any man. “Lord Edward has been kind to us, but that is all.”

  “If you say so, dearest,” Faith said with a smile. “I’ll wear the percale tomorrow, Mary,” she said to the maid, “and my Italian straw hat.”

  The carriage reached Highland Manor close to dusk,
after a journey that seemed to drag with its endless stops to change the horses and partake of a bite of luncheon. Mercy waited for them in front of the house, skipping with a rope. Their ill-named dog, Wolf, lay watching her, tongue lolling. “Tell Mother I am going for a walk,” Honor said.

  “Are you engaged to the duke?” Mercy called after her in a breathless voice, still employing the rope.

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  Honor walked as far as the home farm. She spent a peaceful hour feeding the water fowl and the chickens. Then she wandered back to the house, heavyhearted, aware she must face the inevitable.

  As soon as she put a foot across the threshold, her stepfather called her into his study. She expected him to roar at her and was surprised when he asked in a moderate tone for her to sit.

  He stood before her. “What am I to do with you, Honor?”

  She fidgeted with the braid on her gown. “Must you do anything with me, Father?”

  “Don’t add impertinence to your wrongdoings,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you were my son, I’d thrash some sense into you.”

  Prickles of fear ran the length of her arms. Yet for all his bad temper, she had never seen violence in his eyes. She forced herself to look him straight in the eyes. “Father, you must know what sort of man the duke is. His behavior toward me was unforgivable. I have tried to tell you what he said to me.” She had been unable to put the horror into words without blushing. Apparently, her father didn’t wish to hear it, for he’d shushed her. “Why can’t you take my side?”

  His gaze shuttered. He stalked the carpet, head down, with his hands clasped behind his back. Several minutes passed. Then he rounded on her, making her jump. “You’re a silly young woman with no idea what the future might hold for you,” he said bitterly. “None of you do.” He shrugged, suddenly helpless. “What will happen to your mother, your sisters, if I fail?”

  “You won’t fail, Father,” she murmured, as compassion tightened her throat. “I know you’ll find a way.”