“More important than money?” Olivia looked up from her foolscap and blinked. “Whatever could that be?”
“His standing in society. I thought that if he would but agree to sponsor Cassandra, all our troubles would be over. After all, once Ned and Father return with the new shipment and we can sell it through the shop, all will be well for the rest of us. But Cassandra must have her season now.”
Color flooded Cassandra’s face and she dipped her head, her golden hair gleaming softly. “Oh, Honoria! You didn’t!”
Honoria’s cheeks heated to match Cassandra’s. “I did,” she said a little defensively. “But don’t worry; he refused. He pointed out quite correctly that it would not be at all the thing.” She sighed heavily. “It seemed like the perfect plan.”
“I daresay he receives twice the invitations as Aunt Caroline,” Portia conceded.
Olivia lifted a silver etched sandbox and shook it gently over her new poem, the thirsty grains rapidly drinking up the extra ink and drying it. “Well, it is a perfectly excellent plan, though I must say I can see there are shoals along that route.”
Honoria propped her elbow on her knee and rested her chin in her hand. “So we’re back to the money, which can come in quite handy yet. But…I have not heard from the marquis for several days.”
“Oh! Do you think he has lost interest in regaining his ring?”
“No,” Honoria said, running her fingers over the warmed silver band that graced her hand. “I think he is playing with me…hoping I’ll get desperate for the funds and reduce my request.”
Cassandra smiled. “He does not know you well.”
“No, he does not. Perhaps it is time to up the stakes, as it were. I need to show his high-and-mighty lordship that a Baker-Sneed is not to be trifled with.” She frowned. “All I need is to find one other person who might have an interest in the ring, and Treymount will be forced to accede.”
The door opened and Mrs. Kemble bustled in, followed by a small, slight man with a wizened face. “Miss Honoria, Becket from the stables wishes to speak to you.”
“Excellent!” Honoria said. And for the first time in two days, her heart lifted. She waited for Mrs. Kemble to leave before she said, “Yes, Mr. Becket?”
Their onetime coachman hurriedly pulled his hat from his head and began to wring it between his hands. He was a thin, smallish man with a permanently red face from being outside all of his life. He glanced uneasily about the room. “Miss Baker-Sneed, may I have a word with ye?”
“You may just tell me whatever you wish,” Honoria said. “My sisters have an interest in your efforts.”
“Very well, miss. I was watchin’ his lordship the way ye asked me to—”
“Oh Honoria!” Portia cried, giving an excited hop. “You had Becket watch the marquis! How clever!”
“There’s no culling to portside with Honoria,” Olivia agreed. She smiled at Becket. “Pray continue!”
Beaming at the attention, he slipped his thumbs into his pockets and began his tale. “Well now, I been hidin’ by his house, don’t ye know. And fer two days all he’s done is go to his house and then to his warehouse down by the docks and then to his solicitor’s office and then to White’s and then to—”
“Mr. Becket, did you discover what I asked you to?”
Becket flushed even darker, a smile curving his thin lips. “Indeed I did, miss! On arrivin’ home from White’s, I heard him tell his coachman that he’d be going back out. And this time to a ball. At the Ox—” Becket frowned. “What was that name again? Ox—” He bit his lip.
“Oxford’s?” Portia looked at Honoria. “The Duke of Oxford, perhaps?”
Becket shook his head. “No. It weren’t that. It was Ox—something with a B, I do believe.”
“Ah!” Cassandra said, brightening. “The Oxbridges! That is where Aunt Caroline is attending a ball this very evening. Cousin Jane told me so this morning when I saw her at the lending library.”
Honoria stood, forgetting about her embroidery. This was it; the opportunity she’d been waiting for. It was time to remind her potential client that though she’d promised to give him a week to make up his mind about her offer, there were indeed other fish in the sea. Fish that might well be interested in possessing something near and dear to the hearts of the St. Johns. “Thank you, Becket. You have been a great help.”
“Ah there, it weren’t nothin’ at all.” Yet he looked pleased as he bowed and left.
As soon as the door shut behind him, Honoria turned to her sister. “Cassandra, could you braid my hair? Juliet, you are the best with the flat iron. I shall have need of your assistance. And Portia, may I borrow your pearl necklet?”
“What about me?” Olivia protested.
“You shall write a letter to Aunt Caroline and ask if I may go to the ball as her guest. She feels quite retched about not assisting Cassandra, so I do not think she’ll refuse us this one request.”
Juliet leaned forward, her eyes wide. “What are you going to do?”
“Why, I am going to a ball. The very one his lordship is attending. Once there, I shall make certain the marquis does not forget that the Baker-Sneeds have something he dearly desires. Something that is only a few days from being sold right from beneath his very nose.”
Smiling at her sisters, Honoria swept to the door, a satisfying rustle drifting through the air behind her as the room came to life. “Come, all! We’ve not a moment to lose!”
Chapter 6
Pray have a care with your pins, you wretch! It would be one thing to lose my head for political reasons—that would at least put a pretty epitaph upon my grave, which has been a lifelong goal of mine. But I will be damned if I will die over something as uninteresting as a misplaced hair pin!
Lady Southland to her new French maid, while allowing that rather inept individual to arrange my lady’s hair à la Sappho
The gown of blue watered silk opened over an undergown of white sarcenet embroidered with tiny pink and blue flowers. The small sleeves puffed at the shoulder, revealing Honoria’s slender arms, while the rounded neckline emphasized her graceful neck. All in all, it was a well enough gown for her purpose.
“There. How do I look?” Honoria held her arms out to her sides and turned to her audience.
George looked up from where he sat on the floor by the dresser, ankles crossed before him, Achilles safely tucked in his coat pocket. “Must you wear such a silly gown? All those flowers and such.” He made a face. “I like your regular gowns better.”
“Oh hush, George!” Juliet said reprovingly. “Honoria looks beautiful and you know it.”
Portia pursed her lips thoughtfully. “The tiara is a nice touch. Set amidst so many curls, no one would suspect it is made of paste.”
“Considering it is on my head, everyone will know it is made of paste,” Honoria said dryly. “The Baker-Sneeds may be related to half the ton, but only the less fortunate half.”
Cassandra sighed. “It’s true. If good breeding was all it took, we’d be wealthy.”
“We don’t need wealth,” Honoria said. “Although I must admit I would not complain if such a thing came to pass.”
“We will be just fine once Honoria gets the marquis to come about,” Portia said stoutly. “And then Cassandra can land a wealthy, well-connected husband and sponsor the rest of us and we can all find wealthy husbands.”
“Portia, I will not marry simply for money,” Cassandra said in gentle reproof.
“Of course you won’t,” Honoria said. “But if you are to fall in love, it might be just as easy to love a wealthy man as a poor one.”
“That is a very good way of looking at things,” Olivia said thoughtfully. “All one really needs is the opportunity.”
“Exactly,” Honoria said. “Well? Am I ready? Aunt Caroline said she’d send the carriage for me at eight and it is a quarter ’til now.”
“You look wonderful,” Cassandra said in her gentle voice. “But…you wear brighter colors s
o much better than I do. You really should get a gown of red, although I daresay that would not be proper.”
Honoria smiled. “One day, I shall wear red. See if don’t, and to Hades to all the nay-sayers!”
Olivia sighed enviously. “I wish I could wear a ball gown and go to a real ball.”
“You are all mad,” George said, shaking his head. “Nothing could be more insipid than standing around a room, trussed in gewgaws and finery.”
Honoria smiled down at her brother. “You’ll change your tune in a few years, my dear.”
“I will not.” George pulled Achilles out of his pocket and placed the frog on the tip of his knee. “Achilles and I have no need for such silliness.”
“Yes well, I’m just glad Aunt Caroline was so accommodating,” Cassandra said.
Honoria preferred not to think about how difficult it had been to wrestle the invitation from Aunt Caroline. They’d exchanged several volleys of notes before the old bat had agreed to allow Honoria to attend the ball. Her aunt was suspicious of Honoria’s sudden interest in society and was positively determined to keep Cassandra from bursting upon the social scene and stealing the thunder from her own daughter.
Not that Cousin Jane would really suffer…Cassandra’s rare beauty would draw earls and dukes and marquises, not a one of which would ever pay Aunt Caroline’s poor daughter the slightest heed. Honoria had been forced to swear to her aunt that the invitation was for her only. To further throw her aunt off the scent, Honoria had concocted a story about Treymount admiring a certain object d’art and her hopes to gain his interest in it. Which was, now that she thought about it, not so very far from the truth.
“It’s a wonder Aunt Caroline helped at all,” Portia said, twisting her face into a moue of distaste.
Olivia sniffed. “Especially after she quite dashed poor Cassandra’s hopes.”
“She didn’t dash my hopes at all,” Cassandra said. “But I am glad she furnished Honoria with the invitation, although…Honoria, are you certain this is necessary?”
Honoria faced herself in the mirror, turning first this way and then that. “It is important to keep the ring in front of the not-so-merry marquis or he’ll decide to merely wait us out. If I can whet his appetite, he might just go ahead and purchase the blasted ring outright. Then all we’d need is an invitation or two. It would not take much at all, for Cassandra is so very pretty.”
Cassandra flushed. “I am no prettier than you. But I must question the wisdom of teasing the marquis so. Flashing the ring before him is certain to garner his ire. And Mrs. Kemble said he was quite a stern, unsmiling man.”
“Oh pother! Let him be irked unto death.” Honoria adjusted her paste tiara so it twinkled a bit more from between the curls piled on her head. “Facing a worthy adversary will do him a world of good. And I intend on being very, very good at opposing him. At least until he agrees to do as I have asked.”
Olivia chuckled. “If he thinks to outwit you, he’ll be sadly mistaken. You never could back down from a challenge.”
Juliet glanced up from where she sat curled on Honoria’s bed with her book. “Much to her detriment. Remember the time I told her she couldn’t swim across the lake and she—”
“Yes,” Honoria said, “and we don’t wish to hear that tired story again, thank you very much.”
“I’d like to hear it again,” Olivia said.
Honoria eyed her sourly. “You would.”
Cassandra quickly intervened. “Fortunately for us all, Honoria has matured and can easily turn from a challenge now.”
“Oh?” Juliet asked, her eyes twinkling with laughter. “What about last month when—”
“Oh enough!” Honoria said, throwing up her hands. “Pray do not bring up every time I have lost my temper and agreed to some foolhardy task! It is a failing of mine, I agree. But I am much better than I used to be, and that is what matters.”
Cassandra shook her head. “I certainly hope so. I just hope that this time, with the marquis, you are not going too far. Can you not just write the man a letter and ask for another interview?”
“And make him think I’ve been sitting here, waiting on him for the last two days? No. I cannot do that. It will make me look desperate, and I am most definitely not.” Honoria gathered a shimmering wrap of silver that mirrored the silvered tips of her slippers, suddenly realizing that she’d not thought of the marquis’s devastating kiss the entire time she’d been dressing. It was yet another sign that she was doing the right thing. “I believe I am ready,” she said, drawing on her long gloves. “And while I appreciate all the concern you’ve been showing, please be aware that if there is one thing I understand, it is how to drive a bargain.”
“That’s true,” Olivia said. “Ned always said that Honoria was up to every rig and row in town and that he’d rather be eaten by one of those horrid snakes in Africa than face her on the auction floor.” She frowned. “I only wonder what he’d say about the marquis?”
Honoria fastened the small pearl button at the top of her gloves. “The problem with Treymount is that life has given him his way far too often and it has made him a little too certain of himself. Rather like an overfed lion, he thinks he has but to glare and we will all fall dead before him, ready to be eaten at his leisure.”
Cassandra stood and adjusted a ribbon at Honoria’s shoulder. “That sounds horrid, to be sure.”
“Oh, not really. Once I arrive at the ball, I shall twinkle the ring beneath his nose. Not much, but enough that he sees it. And then…” Honoria rubbed the silver ring with one finger through the thin material of her gloves, smiling at the warmth that tingled through her hand and arm.
“And then?” Cassandra prompted.
“And then I shall dance with Lord Radmere.”
“Who is that?” Portia asked.
“Merely the largest collector of antique jewelry in all of Britain. It will drive the marquis mad to see his family heirloom being admired by Radmere.”
Cassandra sighed. “It sounds like a good plan, but I—”
“Oh dear, the time! I must be off!” Honoria gave her reflection one last glance and then she dropped a kiss on the cheeks of each of her sisters and gave George a quick hug. “Wish me luck, my dears. I go to war, you know. Not a ball.”
“Pull anchor and heave the sails!” Olivia said, giving her sister a mock salute. “Canvas well!”
Portia grabbed up the poker by the fireplace and held it aloft like a sword. “For God and country!”
Georgie held a startled Achilles over his head. “Take no quarter!”
Olivia laughed. “Win, Honoria. And if there is some cake at the ball…perhaps you can wrap some up and put it in your reticule?” She rubbed her hands together, a beatific smile on her face. “I do so love cake.”
“I shall do what I can. Now good night, my pretties. Don’t wait up.” With a flip of her hand and a smile, Honoria set out to make certain the annoying Marquis of Treymount did not forget that she possessed something he wanted very, very badly.
Marcus walked into the foyer of Treymount House, smoothing the sleeve of his evening coat. “Jeffries, has the carriage been brought around?”
Jeffries’s usually stern countenance almost froze into a grimace. “Ah…no, my lord.”
Marcus paused. “No?” he said softly. “Did I not request it?”
The butler glanced uncertainly at the door behind Marcus. “Yes, you did. However, I can explain, my lord.”
Marcus raised his brows.
“Do not burn Jeffries with one of your fierce looks,” came a laughing voice from behind Marcus.
He turned to find Brandon standing in the entryway. “Well, a visit from one of my esteemed brothers.”
Brandon’s amused expression faded, confusion evident on his face. “What—”
“Nothing.” What was wrong with him that he was snapping at everyone? “Have you talked to Anthony?”
“Not since Thursday. Why? Should I—”
“No, no.” Marcus managed a smile, leading the way to the library. “Never mind. I am just at odds this evening. So tell me, brother of mine, is it your fault my carriage is not yet ready?”
“Yes, it is. I came to ask for your assistance, but I can see you are on your way out—” Brandon’s eyes widened and he came to a sudden halt. “You are dressed in formal attire. Did someone die?”
“No. I am on my way to a ball.”
“I thought you gave up on social occasions years ago.”
There it was, that hint that something was wrong with him. Marcus had to count to ten before he replied, “I do get invited out, you know. I have never been a hermit.”
“Yes, but you so rarely accept any of the hundreds of invitations that come your way. I don’t think I’ve seen you dressed in such a manner in months.”
“Did you want something?” Marcus asked, beyond irritated. He glanced at his reflection in the wide mirror over the large fireplace that graced one end of the library and adjusted his cravat. First Anthony and now Brandon. It was annoying, but…Marcus sighed. Perhaps he should listen a bit more closely; they were his brothers, after all.
Jeffries held up the evening coat. “My lord?”
Marcus waved him away. “I shall not be leaving immediately. Brandon, stay have a seat.”
Brandon waited until Jeffries had closed the door before facing Marcus. “I hate to do this but…I must ask a favor. Verena’s father is in trouble.”
“How unfortunate. I don’t see how that affects either of us, but Mr. Landsdowne has my sympathies.”
Brandon frowned. “Marcus, it’s not that simple. I must go and see what I can do to fix the situation. He apparently ran afoul of the local authorities and then took an illness. I must sort out the paperwork and then get him back to England.”
“Why must you do such a thing?” Marcus poured two glasses of port and carried one to Brandon. “He’s not your father, after all. I believe he has several other daughters, and a son, too, if I remember correctly.”