The Original Miss Honeyford (13 page)

He then told Honey several shocking stories about the capricious cruelty of the patronesses, cleverly implying that, of course, no one would dare to harm her as long as he was at her side, and so conjured up that charming, warm feeling of security which seemed to draw the two of them closer together.

So expert was he at
binding
her to him that she felt quite cold and nervous when Lord Alistair took her away to lead her into the waltz.

Honey had danced the waltz before and it was no novelty to have a man’s hand on her waist. But there was something so overwhelmingly
physical
about the nearness of Lord Alistair’s body, and the small of her back seemed to burn and throb under the light pressure of his gloved hand. It was like those dreadful, shocking dreams. She stared at his top waistcoat button and stumbled over his feet.

“Miss Wetherall is looking at us,” came his mocking voice from somewhere above her head. “I do wish you would look up, Miss Honeyford. Your diamond circlet is very pretty, but the light from it is blinding my eyes.”

Honey looked up defiantly and found her gaze trapped and held by his own. He saw the mixture of innocence and wariness in those wide hazel eyes and felt a strange emotion which he did not recognize because he had never before felt tender or protective about any woman he had held in his arms.

“You are very beautiful tonight,” he said without a trace of mockery. There was something in his eyes that made Honey’s spirits lift and lift, until it seemed there was only the two of them moving through a brightly colored world.

Captain Jocelyn had secured the waltz with Amy Wetherall, a young lady of whom the patronesses highly approved. He felt he would be transported to seventh heaven if only Amy would look at him just once and stop glaring at Honey and Lord Alistair.

He envied Lord Alistair, who seemed to have the capacity to bewitch women. Only look at the way Honey floated in his arms, a Honey so transformed that Captain Jocelyn saw her for the first time as the new reigning beauty of London society and not as the muddy, swearing Honey of the hunting field. He felt a pang of regret. Amy would never, ever look at him like that. Perhaps he should have courted Honey, but anyone could see she was lost to any man other than Lord Alistair.

The patronesses languidly waved their fans and whispered that Lady Canon must be addled in her upper chambers to allow her niece to waste time with Lord Alistair Stewart.

The dance came to an end and Honey looked dizzily up at Lord Alistair. He smiled down at her in a caressing way and said, “Let us go and find some horrible refreshment. The cakes they have at Almack’s are reputed to have seen more balls than I. I feel one should try to eat one of the things if only to send it at last to an honorable grave.”

“I would like some lemonade,” said Honey dreamily. “I am very thirsty.”

He led her to a sofa in the corner of the room and sat down next to her. “Aren’t you going to fetch anything?” asked Honey.

“Not I. The minute I leave your side you will be snatched away from me. I will find someone else to do the work. Ah, Channington. The very man. Miss Honey is parched and craves a glass of lemonade.”

“Your servant.” Lord Channington bowed to Honey and darted away to fetch the lemonade.

“You see how easy it is?” said Lord Alistair. “Now I do not have to exert myself in the least.”

“But Lord Channington will expect to join us.”

Lord Alistair smiled at her sweetly but did not reply.

Lord Channington came back, nearly spilling the lemonade from the glass in his haste.

There was only room on the sofa for Honey and Lord Alistair, so Lord Channington had to stand in front of them.

“May I beg you for the next dance?” asked Lord Channington.

“Miss Honeyford is fatigued,” said Lord Alistair, “and, besides, she cannot dance while holding a glass of lemonade.”

Honey opened her mouth to say she would like to dance with Lord Channington very much, but Lord Alistair went on, “Furthermore, Channington, there’s Brummell signaling to you.”

Lord Channington twisted about. “I cannot see George,” he said.

“Course you can’t,” said Lord Alistair languidly. “He is over there, behind that pillar, under the musicians’ gallery.”

Lord Channington bowed and moved off. Several other gentlemen came up to ask Honey to dance, but Lord Alistair said, “You must all go away this instant. Miss Honeyford has promised to sit quietly with me and drink her lemonade. You cannot possibly want to offend me by taking her away.”

Honey turned to him after her gallants had left and said in a hard little voice, “You do not own me, my lord.”

“I have a prior claim on you,” he said. “I saved your life. You are bound to me by ties stronger than iron.”

“I am bound to no one.”

“I would keep you by me, Miss Honeyford.”

“Why?” said Honey sharply.

“What a disconcerting female you are. When a gentleman pays you a compliment, you do not glare at him like a scalded kitten and demand, ‘Why.’”

“I told you to keep away from me,” said Honey, “and you shouted, ‘Gladly.’”

“My dear Miss Honeyford, I can no more keep away from you than the moth from the flame,” he mocked. “I was seduced a long time ago by your fiery temper, your repellent hat, and the adorable way you glare at me. Bother! It seems we set the fashion. Miss Wetherall and her gallant have just sat down on the other side of the pillar. The young man is dazzled, but the fair Amy will begin to talk very loudly and clearly for our benefit.”

“For
your
benefit,” said Honey.

“I am persuaded Miss Amy would not give a rap for me were she not so jealous of you.”

“Jealous of
me?”
Honey felt a warm glow.

“Oh, yes, very much so. Ah, there goes the laughter. Now comes the joke.”

“So much do the Irish consider their own eggs, Captain Jocelyn,” came Amy’s voice, “the superior in sweetness and flavor to those in England, that some Irishmen will not allow that an English hen can lay a
fresh egg.”

A
burst of hearty laughter from the captain greeted this joke. Then he said, “Miss Wetherall, your eyes are like stars…”

“The Irish are
so
funny,” went on Amy in an even louder voice. “‘I am very bad, Pat,’ said one poor fellow, rubbing his head, to another. ‘Ah! Then, may God keep you so, for fear you should be worse,’ was the reply.”

“Indeed! Jolly good. Hah, hah,” said the captain with more duty than mirth.

“Dear me,” murmured Lord Alistair. “We must move, or she will not stop, and here comes Colonel O’Connell, who is noted for his choler. One of Miss Wetherall’s jokes would give the poor man an apoplexy.”

He rose to his feet and held out his arm.

“No, Lord Alistair,” said Honey firmly. “You are paying me too much attention and it is not the thing. You are driving away all my other suitors.” She got up. “I do not know what possessed my aunt to encourage you in this way.”

He turned and faced her, standing very close to her. “Promise me the next waltz,” he said.

She took his arm and began to walk to, the edge of the dance floor with him. “Promise,” he whispered, “or I shall take you in my arms right in front of Sally Jersey and kiss you until you scream.”

“You would not dare.”

“Do not put it to the test.”

She looked up into his eyes, seeing all the tenderness and amusement there, and something else she could not recognize. She weakly found herself promising him the next waltz.

Lord Channington, leading her into the next country dance, found her strangely abstracted. When he promenaded with her after the dance, he had to repeat things twice. Honey was floating about in a daze.

“Perhaps it will serve my ends,” thought Lord Channington cynically. “When she finds out Stewart does not mean to marry her, she will come rushing to my arms.”

Perhaps the only guest at the ball who was not firmly convinced that Honey and Lord Alistair were falling in love was Lady Canon. Having never been in love herself, she was incapable of recognizing that emotion in others. Sophy, Honey’s mother, had fallen deeply in love with Sir Edmund. Lady Canon had been distressed by her beautiful young sister’s marriage to a country gentleman of no particular fortune, and felt she herself had made up for this lapse by carefully allying herself with the wealthy Sir Angus Canon, a man considerably older than herself who had had the good taste to take himself off to his Maker after only five years of marriage, and to leave his widow all his worldly goods. Lady Canon often thought of her husband with deep affection.

As a young widow, she had enjoyed various discreet flirtations without ever once letting her head rule her heart. It was a pity Honey was so like her mother, but, with good luck and good guidance, the girl should be persuaded to settle for a suitable match.

Even if Lord Alistair had been interested in marriage, his rank was too high above Honey’s to take the matter seriously.

Lord Alistair was holding Honey in his arms once more as they circled in the steps of the waltz. She appeared more relaxed in his company and even raised her head and laughed at something he was saying.

It would do her standing in society no harm, reflected the worldly-wise Lady Canon, when it came about that Lord Alistair was not interested in her. Any girl he had favored with his attention automatically became the rage. Brummell might dictate who was
in
and who was
out
, but Lord Alistair’s interest decided which was the most attractive girl.

He must have a mistress somewhere, reflected Lady Canon. A man like Lord Alistair would certainly not lead a celibate life. Again, she felt that little pang of jealousy but did not recognize it for what it was, since she had hardly ever been jealous of any woman in her life.

“Why did you go to the Park so early?” Lord Alistair was asking Honey.

“I felt I had to get some fresh air,” said Honey. “I could not sleep. And please do not lecture me on the folly of going out without a footman. I am now reformed. I am become civilized, you see.”

“No more pistols, hangings, brandy, or cheroots?”

“No more hangings. How can people wish to see such a spectacle?”

“Thousands go every day. A friend once told me he got an exhilarating feeling from seeing other people die and knowing he himself was still alive.”

Honey shuddered. “Perhaps that explains the behavior of my servants. They are all decent, God-fearing men.”

“Think of something else,” urged Lord Alistair. “What do you think of the famous Almack’s?”

“Very fine,” said Honey cautiously, “and not so grand or terrifying as I had imagined.”

“Very terrifying for most, I can assure you. The fear of being excluded haunts them all.”

Honey sighed. “It seems so petty. If I were a man, I should not care for such amusements. I would stay in the country and never come to London.”

“You crave the simple life?”

“Do not mock me. A home where one can be free and happy is a wonderful place.”

“You sound wistful, as if that home is something lost to you. You will soon have a home of your own, and children.”

“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.”