by M C Beaton
“But not love,” said Honey, and then cursed her unguarded tongue.
“Why not love?” he asked softly.
“Oh, Aunt Elizabeth says that one may have a love affair after one is married, but marriage itself should be a business contract.”
He looked down at her glowing face, at her eyes which were large and shadowed, and had a sudden impulse to wring Lady Canon’s neck.
“A great many of my friends,” he said gently, “were very eligible men and they married for love. They adore their wives and children. A suitable marriage need not be loveless.”
“I do not think either you or Aunt Elizabeth know the first thing about love,” said Honey candidly.
“And you do, my child?”
“I have an awareness of it,” said Honey. “My lord! You are holding me too close.”
“True,” he said lightly. “You make me forget myself, Miss Honeyford.”
He held her the regulation twelve inches away from him and they ended the dance in silence.
Since he had danced with her twice, Honey did not expect to see him again that evening and was surprised when three in the morning arrived and Lady Canon announced that Lord Alistair was ready to take them home.
Although Lord Alistair and Lady Canon carried most of the conversation on the road home, Honey was intensely aware of him. She longed for him to take his leave so that she could be comfortable again, and, at the same time, she wanted him to stay so that he might look at her again with that special caressing look in his eyes.
Lady Canon invited him in to share the tea tray, and, after a little hesitation, he accepted. But he felt Lady Canon was going too far when she found an excuse to leave the room as soon as tea was served.
Lord Alistair sat down next to Honey on a sofa in front of the fire. The flames sent red sparks dancing from the circlet of diamonds in her hair.
“The gentleman who Miss Wetherall was regailing with Irish bulls… do you know him, Miss Honeyford?”
“Yes, he is Captain Jocelyn from Kelidon. He is home on leave. We went hunting together,” said Honey dreamily, remembering nostalgically the freedom of the old days. It was hard to remember that “the old days” were only a few weeks ago, when she had last gone hunting.
“I think you have a tendre for him,” said Lord Alistair.
Honey colored. “Not I. But he is the kind of man who would make me a suitable husband, I think.”
“And not someone such as I?”
“Oh, my lord, all the world knows you do not wish to marry.”
“Strange. It may be because everyone has been pointing out to me of late what a confirmed old bachelor I am that I have a strong inclination to prove them wrong.”
“I do not think you should even contemplate the idea,” said Honey, pouring tea. “You would only bully your poor wife to death.”
“Not if I loved her.”
Honey’s hand shook and she spilled tea into his saucer.
“Do not worry,” he said. “I do not really want tea, nor do I want to be compromised by Lady Canon.”
“Aunt has left the door open,” said Honey, “so you are not compromised. Only ladies are compromised.”
“Gentlemen can have their hearts stolen, however, and I find your presence too disturbing, Miss Honeyford. The temptation to kiss you is almost irresistible.”
“It is as well I know your wit, my lord. You are funning.”
“Perhaps. In any case, give Lady Canon my regards and tell her the folly of her ways. I am going to my club.”
He rose to his feet and Honey rose as well.
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. He had meant to deposit a light kiss on her gloved hand, but the little hand in his trembled and her eyes were large and frightened.
The strong current of emotion emanating from each of them held them both shocked. His grasp on her hand tightened and he pulled her toward him.
Her lips parted in a tremulous smile under the intensity of his gaze. Slowly, he drew her into his arms and held her against his chest, wondering whether it was her body that was burning and throbbing with such emotion or his own.
The watch called the hour outside the window, the fire crackled in the hearth, and the clocks ticked, while Lord Alistair and Honey stood very still, deaf and blind to anything outside the pair of them.
“You are trembling,” he said huskily, his voice sounding strange in his ears.
“I think you had better let me go,” said Honey in a small voice.
He released her immediately and thought he had never before in all his life felt so cold and bereft.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “Where will you be tomorrow?”
“I do not know,” said Honey.
“Here I am,” cried Lady Canon brightly, tripping into the room.
“I am on the point of taking my leave,” said Lord Alistair.
“So soon? I am sorry I left you so long, but my Clarisse is having hysterics over a trifle. The French are so incalculable, don’t you think?”
“I must go,” said Lord Alistair. “I shall see you tomorrow, Miss Honeyford.”
“Ah, yes,” said Lady Canon, “we are to go to Maxwell’s fête champêtre.”
“Then I will escort you,” said Lord Alistair, his eyes, hooded and enigmatic, fixed on Honey.
“Of course,” smiled Lady Canon, pleased that Lord Alistair was taking his duties so seriously. “We will expect you at noon. Honoria! You have forgot to make your curtsy to Lord Alistair.”
Honey went to bed that night in Lord Alistair’s arms. As soon as she fell asleep, he was there, holding her close, straining her to him. She kissed him back with rising passion, begging for more and more intimacies, until he suddenly said, “Damn it to hell!” and got up and walked away, leaving her suddenly awake with the tears running down her cheeks.
“Damn it to hell!” muttered Lord Alistair savagely as he left Watier’s and walked along Piccadilly to clear his head. He could not stop thinking of her. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly he could scream.
He must tell Lady Canon he could not see the girl again. “Why not?” mocked a voice in his head. “You could marry her and have her to yourself for the rest of your life.”
“She would bore me,” he said aloud, much to the amusement of a passing party of bloods.
“Then let someone else have her,” sneered the voice. “Let Channington take her in his arms and…”
He walked faster, as if to leave the voice behind. He would see her, just one more time, and then he would tell Lady Canon he had done as much as any man could be expected to do.
* * *
Lord Alistair arrived promptly at noon, surprising Lady Canon by rolling up in a closed carriage. He said that his valet’s left leg forecast rain and was more reliable on the subject of the weather than any farmer’s almanac.
Lady Canon looked pointedly at the blue cloudless sky and then said she did not believe in encouraging servants to be dramatic.
Lord Alistair’s coachman was driving and two tall footmen stood on the backstrap. He took his place inside the carriage facing Lady Canon and Honey—who would not look at him.
The fete was to be held in the Surrey fields. Honey was wearing one of the new gypsy bonnets and a simple white muslin gown embroidered with a dead gold key pattern around the hem. A heavy cashmire shawl was draped around her shoulders.
Lord Alistair thought she looked very pretty and said so, and Lady Canon prodded Honey in the ankle with her parasol when her niece made no response to the compliment.
Honey was terrified to find her dreams were coming to life. Her whole body seemed to ache and yearn in the presence of Lord Alistair. Her knees trembled and she pressed them together, praying for this agony of proximity to be at an end.
As if sensing her discomfort, Lord Alistair moved along the opposite seat until he was facing Lady Canon.
Lady Canon began to chat about various people Honey did not know, and soon, as Lord Alistair appeared t
o become unaware of her, she began to relax and enjoy the sunny view from the carriage window.
When they arrived, Lady Canon was appalled to find that there were to be “no servants” present. They were all to sit on the grass and cook their own meals over open fires—that is, after an army of servants had lit the fires and arranged the food to be cooked in trays beside each party, before retiring a discreet distance.
Lord Alistair spread a carriage rug for Honey beside one of the fires and sat down next to her. A party of young ladies, including Mrs. Osborne, whom Honey recognized from the inn at Barnet, promptly joined them, teasing Lord Alistair and begging him show them what to do.
He replied to their sallies with great good humor, and Honey felt like sulking. She longed to be able to say something witty and bright to regain his attention. What a dreadful day it was turning out to be! Even Lord Channington was not around to raise her morale.
She could not join in the pretense of not knowing what to do, since the servants had left sausages and carefully sharpened sticks beside each fire so that the lords and ladies could play at being gypsies with very little effort.
Honey speared a sausage on a stick and held it over the fire. Lord Alistair handed around champagne and then said, “Only follow Miss Honeyford’s example, ladies. She is never at a loss to know what to do, which is why I dance attendance on her.” Honey received several sour looks, and one by one the ladies began to drift away to find gentlemen who would pay them more attention.
Lord Alistair took the stick from her and smiled down at her. “Let me look after you this day, my independent friend.” Honey smiled back at him, dizzy with gladness because he had called her “friend.”
All at once the day took on a glitter and sparkle like the champagne in their glasses. Lord Alistair did a fair imitation of Amy and invented terrible Irish jokes until Honey was helpless with laughter. They both agreed that food cooked in the open air tasted quite dreadful, drank more champagne, and laughed at the slightest thing.
The weather changed so suddenly and violently that it took the whole party by surprise. One minute, it seemed, the smoke from the bonfires was rising up to a clear blue sky, and the next, an angry wind was whipping ashes over the dresses of the ladies as the sky above grew blacker and blacker.
Lord Alistair got to his feet and pulled Honey up after him.
“Quick! To the carriage,” he said, seizing Honey’s hand and starting to run.
Still laughing, she ran after him, trying to keep up with his long strides. They reached the carriage just as the heavens opened and the rain poured down.
“My valet’s leg is never wrong,” said Lord Alistair, helping Honey inside. “I trust you did not get too wet?”
“Not very,” said Honey, taking off her hat and shaking raindrops from it. “Where is Lady Canon?”
He rubbed the glass of the window with his sleeve and looked out.
“Dear me,” he said. “What a wickedly bad chaperone that lady is. She is just climbing into Mrs. Osborne’s carriage for shelter.”
“Oh,” said Honey, suddenly shy.
He sat next to her and wrapped a bearskin carriage rug tenderly about her shoulders. “It is going to get very cold,” he said.
His hands stayed on her shoulders as he looked down at her.
He gave an odd little sigh and bent his mouth to hers. At first, it was not like the wild, passionate kisses of Honey’s dreams. It was warm and tender and comforting. It felt the most natural thing in the world.
Feeling safe and at home, she put a confiding arm about his neck and kissed him back.
And that was when the dreams became reality as they were both struck by a wave of intense passion. He kissed her until they were both breathless, he kissed her until her lips were bruised, he kissed her with increasing force and passion while the rain drummed down on the carriage roof and the thunder crashed about the heavens.
He pulled her onto his knees so that he could hug her closer. He buried his lips in her hair and then returned to her mouth again, feeling her passion mounting to match his own.
And then his eye caught a movement outside the window and he gently put her from him. The storm had passed as quickly as it had come. The sky was blue and people were beginning to move about outside.
He lifted Honey from his knees and placed her gently on the seat beside him. “My love,” he said quickly, “I must tell you before Lady Canon returns. I had a letter from my mother this morning. She is ailing, and I must leave you to go to the country. I will not be gone above a week. Wait for me. Do you understand?”
She nodded dumbly, wanting to say she would wait for him forever if need be, but too stunned with love to say a word.
The carriage door opened and Lady Canon climbed in.
“There you are!” she said brightly. “The outing is quite ruined because the meadow is sodden. Pray tell your coachman to drive us back to Town.”
The journey back was a silent one. Lady Canon was too worried to speak. Honey was staring at Lord Alistair Stewart like a mazed fool. Lady Canon did not recognize the face of love. She only thought Honey was besotted in a stupid way and that Lord Alistair looked half asleep.
Lord Alistair refused her invitation to take tea. He kissed Honey’s hand in farewell, and wished Lady Canon would leave them alone together so that he might kiss her good-bye.
Honey floated into the house on Charles Street in a daze of happiness.
“Honoria!” said Lady Canon. “A word with you, if you please.”
“Certainly,” said Honey vaguely, giving her aunt a sweet smile.
Lady Canon fretted and fumed until the tea tray was brought in and the servants dismissed.
“Now,” she said, “just what has been happening between you and Lord Alistair?”
Honey laughed. “Is it not wonderful, aunt? We are in love and we are to be married. Oh, I am the luckiest girl alive!”
“Lord Alistair proposed marriage?”
“Not exactly, Aunt Elizabeth. But he loves me, and I… oh, I love him so very much.”
“It is all my fault,” said Lady Canon. “The wretched man.”
Honey looked amused. “Do not blame yourself, aunt. In fact, accept my thanks. It was you who threw us together.”
“I know,” said Lady Canon. “But I did not expect a man like Lord Alistair to go this far.”
Honey sat very still, fighting down a chill little feeling of dread that was starting up inside her.
“Please explain yourself, aunt.”
“I thought you were about to make a fool of yourself over Channington, and so I asked Lord Alistair to attract your attention to himself.”
“And he agreed?”
“With great reluctance. I am a good friend of his mama, the Duchess of Bewley, and so I knew he would eventually give in and do it to please me.”
“I cannot believe it.” Honey felt sick. “He told me to wait for him. He has gone to the country to see the duchess, who is ill.”
“Believe me, the Duchess of Bewley has never had a day’s illness in her life. He knew he had gone too far, and so he was beating a gentlemanly retreat.”
“I was so sure he loved me,” whispered Honey.
Again Lady Canon experienced that unrecognized stab of jealousy.
“You are such a widgeon,” she said. “You will see the wisdom of it in the weeks to come. Look how easily you became enamored of Lord Alistair. That should show you that you must put a guard on your unruly emotions. You are very young.”
“He seemed sincere.”
“Of course he did,” snapped Lady Canon. “He would not have been able to woo you else.”
“And you both sat here and plotted the whole thing,” said Honey. “You disgust me. Both of you.”
“You are understandably bitter. But you will recover. You young things! In another week, you will be just as much in love with someone else.” Lady Canon laughed and poured more tea while Honey stared at her with hate-filled eyes.
“That would be very selfish of you,” said Lady Canon calmly. “Why run away because a man proves false? You must face up to reality. You are living between the pages of circulating library romances. Real life is not thus. Your father has gone to great expense to send you here. You cannot repay him by returning home in a pettish temper. Now, go to your room and bathe your face and you will feel much better. We go to Chumleys’ rout tonight.”
Honey looked at her in appalled wonder. Her world had smashed and crashed about her ears and yet Aunt Elizabeth went on pouring tea.
Once in her room, Honey lay down on the bed and cried and cried. Her bitter mind distorted every caress until Lord Alistair appeared a jeering, cynical monster.
Somehow she would get her revenge on her aunt, and on Lord Alistair. No, she would not run home to Kelidon. She owed her father a great deal and she would do her best to bring home a husband.
She rose and washed her face and hands and then rang for brandy, ignoring the chambermaid’s startled look. The stately Beecham was informed and promptly told Lady Canon that her niece was demanding brandy.
“Let her have it,” said Lady Canon wearily. She was beginning to feel very guilty about her treatment of Honey, and the more guilty she felt, the more she became convinced it must all be someone else’s fault.
Honey drank several glasses of brandy. Then she allowed herself to be turned and pinned and taped by Clarisse as she was prepared for the rout.
Lord Channington was already at the rout when Honey entered with Lady Canon. Like all womanizers, Lord Channington did not really like women one bit and yet had that strong feminine streak which is part of every Don Juan’s make-up which makes him peculiarly susceptible to the changing moods of his prey.
He therefore knew immediately that Honey was in great emotional pain. He had heard all the gossip about how Lord Alistair and Miss Honeyford had been smelling of April and May at the fete in the Surrey fields, and he had heard just as he arrived at the rout of Lord Alistair’s sudden departure from town. The cynics were already sniggering that Lord Alistair had escaped the parson’s mousetrap as he had done so many times before.
