Vidal's Honor (21 page)
Authors: Sherry Gloag
“Who do you suppose that could be? Vidal told me he would not spread news of our arrival abroad and thus spare us the necessity of entertaining callers.” Honor, her hand resting on the banister, looked at Consuela's hopeful face. “Not Vidal, for why should he knock upon his own door?”
Both women remained where they were and watched Henderson, the butler, cross the hall and open the door.
Vidal's mother! Who greeted Henderson with a bright smile, and easy manner.
Now what had sent his mother out of town when Honor knew the woman detested the country?
Honor retraced her steps by the time the newcomer had shed her hat and gloves and placed them along with a small bandbox on the granite table in the centre of the hall.
“Your grace, what brings you here?”
“You do, child.” The Duchess of Sitwell caught hold of Honor's hands and studied her face before glancing towards the stairs. “And you are Consuela? My son has recounted the many incidents of your bravery in helping Honor to reach safety. You must tell me all about it sometime.”
In accord the women headed for the morning room again.
Honor's cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “I don't know what Vidal has been saying, but I am sure you are making more of it than you may, although he is in the right of it when he accords Consuela with distinction. Without her and Juan, I do not know what I would have done.” Her cheeks flamed when it struck her she'd slighted Vidal's efforts to bring her home safely. “I mean⦠that is⦔
“On the contrary, my child.” Her grace ignored Honor's stammering. “My son, while he has not given me the whole I am sure, has told me enough to know you must still suffer the after-effects of your tumble down the mountainside to mention just one of the trials you all experienced during your journey.”
“To be sure I still experience some pain, but nothing I cannot cope with.”
“You were always the same.” Her grace pulled Honor into a light embrace. “I was so sorry to learn about Devlin.”
At the compassion in her grace's voice, tears of guilt and grief welled behind Honor's eyes. If only his mother knew how much Honor had come to love her son.
“Nowâ” With a smooth switch to practicality, her grace turned the conversation. “Charles is unable to leave London immediately so he sent me to escort you both back to town.”
Vidal's mother laughed at Consuela's excited cry. “We will leave in two days time.” The shout of excitement turned to an exasperated moan.
“I know you look forward to the bustle of town and the parties. Indeed, you would think with the Season nearly over most people would have left by now, but the new Lord Kringle is holding a ball on Christmas Eve, and everyone who is anyone will be there. I fear it will be a sad crush,” she declared with a smile at the Spanish woman.
“Is your new wardrobe complete? Charles told me he left you in âa welter of fashion plates and more bolts of material than colours in the rainbow'⦠his words, you understand.”
Her expression grew serious when it rested on Honor. “'T's a shame you must wear mourning black, my dear. Fortunately, there are now so many shades of black and dark grey available, I'm sure we will find sufficient gowns and morning dresses suitable to see you through to the end of this Season.”
“Does that mean when we reach London I cannot wear any of the wonderful gowns Mrs. Lorimar has fashioned for me so far?” Tears trembled on Consuela's lashes and her smile vanished.
Her grace studied Consuela for several minutes. “Perhaps society will accept your departure from etiquette more tolerantly if you dress in more muted colours, because you are Spanish, and not take offence. With your dark hair I think you could wear a shade of burgundy or claret very successfully. Not a bright shade. No, not a bright shade. Sapphire will be too vivid. I do believe darker blues and greens will work well as alternatives.” With her hand on the Spanish woman's shoulder, the duchess pondered the options. “I do believe nut brown and gold would suit you admirably, too. What have you chosen so far?”
“We expect Mrs. Lorimar any moment now for our final fittings.”
“Ah.” Her eyes twinkling with amusement, Lady Sitwell clapped her hands. “Just when you give up hoping a man listens to what you say, they proceed to confound you. It is a marvel that Vidal remembered the name of my dressmaker. How clever of him. I declare the woman is an angel, and so gifted with a needle. Later you must show me what she has done for you so far.”
After a brief tap on the door, the butler entered carrying a tea tray, and informed the ladies that Mrs. Lorimar was upstairs and would await their convenience.
“Bring the tray, Henderson,” Vidal's mother instructed. In the anticipation of several pleasant hours ahead of them, her grace rose and led the way to the waiting dressmaker.
* * * *
“He accuses Hepworth?” Lord Dundas leaned back in his leather chair and tapped the letter in his hand. “You say Dumas gave this to you?”
Vidal nodded. “He did. He also told me on a previous encounter that Cedric Chiltern has put it about that Honor betrayed her husband and is the real traitor.”
Anger ripped through him. Since arriving in town several different versions of the rumour had been brought to his attention. Some had made a point of accosting him and repeating the latest on-dit racing through the
ton,
while others dropped their conversation in mid-sentence when he entered a room.
Honor
had
stabbed Devlin in the heart while he slept.
She'd paid the soldiers to abduct and kill him.
She was an agent of "
le duc
"
and
had
passed on all the information she'd gleaned from
Lord Beaumont
after getting him drunk.
He'd wanted to smash in the faces of the stupid biddies so eager to pass on gossip they did not care to learn the truth of.
The squeak of Dumas's chair refocused Vidal's attention. The First Lord of the Admiralty now leaned forward, his elbows on his desk, his chin on his steepled fingers. “Hepworth has recently become a close crony of Augustus Reeve⦠I wonder⦔
“Augustus Reeve, the fellow that called out Prinny that night he was raving drunk?”
And the man who'd tried to divide Devlin and himself and offered for Honor's hand almost four years ago.
“He's always raving drunk, Vidal.”
“Well he was even more inebriated that night. Must have been, to be so brainless. I never understood how he survived insulting the heir to the throne.”
“Neither does anyone else, but take care, Charles, it is never mentioned.”
“Wheels within wheels, I dare say.”
“His mother, Lady Randall, is an influential woman who wields her power for the sole benefit of herself and her son. She never forgets a slight, whether it is real or perceived.”
“Perceived?” The whisper of an incident, vague in the mists of his memory, began to take shape and solidify. His shocked gaze met Dundas's rueful one.
“Exactly, Charles. I see you begin to make the connections and understand the roots of the situation we face now.”
“How did you learn about this?”
“It is my business to discover these things if they threaten the safety of our country.”
“It was nearly four years ago,” he exclaimed, then turned the conversation. “Honor told me she and Devlin intended to hold an anniversary ball to celebrate three years of marriage, and they were betrothed for six months before the wedding⦔ Reaching for his brandy, he knocked it back in one gulp, and relished the fire that slid down his throat.
“Are you telling me Reeveâ“
“Of course not. He doesn't have the brains for it, but his mother⦠You cross her at your peril and she never forgets.” Lord Dundas filled Vidal's snifter again and observed the fury burning behind his guest's eyes. Yes, he'd chosen his man well, and Vidal would see his plans through to the end.
Rising, he crossed to the door, called to someone beyond, and waited until they handed him a bulky folder and then came to stand at Vidal's side.
“I want you to read theseâ” He slapped the bundle of papers on his desk surface and returned to his chair. When Vidal studied his face for some clue, he simply waved at the documents, leaned back, and waited.
Three hours later Vidal stood and leaned across the desk. “You knew, you knew and you didn't raise a finger to stop it. And because of you I've lost my best friend and Honor has lost her beloved husband.
“What kind of man are you? You told me I had to go out there to rescue her, you told me you'd have the traitor banged up in prison before I left, and you looked me straight in the face and lied through your teeth.”
He smacked his palm on the surface of the desk, and the papers scattered, some falling to the floor, unheeded. “You lied.” He strode across the room, gripped the window frame, and leaned his brow on the cool glass.
“By the time I called you in, Beaumont was already dead. I did not lie,” Dundas snapped. “My men were watching Chiltern, but he gave them the slip. And at the time we did not know about Reeve's part in this.”
“Reeve? You jest, surely you jest. He is more of a liability than Chiltern.”
“Very true, but he always does what his mother tells him. Did you know she is Hepworth's paramour?”
Shock spun Vidal round to stare at Dundas. “Paramour? Do not beat about the bush, if she is his mistress that meansâ” What did it mean?
“She has him firmly in her clutches and like her son⦔
Unaware of the scene beyond the glass, Vidal stared out of the window as things began to fall into place.
Crushed ambitions, ego, and spite, plus the craving for manipulation⦠She had used all of it for her long awaited retribution. When his hands fisted at his side he deliberately concentrated on straightening each finger, one at a time.
“Come, sit down, Vidal, and I will explain everything, and how we intend to manage it.”
The confines of social expectations began to weigh heavily on his shoulders. “I have sent my mother down to Stavely to escort Honor, Lady Beaumont and Consuela; I forget her last name, back to town. I dare say they will arrive by the end of the week.”
“Today is Tuesdayâ”
Dundas's pensive tone interrupted Vidal's rising anticipation at seeing Honor again soon.
“âaccept invitations on the ladies' behalf from Friday onwards. I want them and Juan Mendoza to go about as much as possible for the rest of the month.”
Vidal couldn't remain seated any longer and crossed the room to stare down at the crush of horses and carriages in the street below. An urchin darted into the road and startled one of the animals, causing confusion and mayhem. He applauded silently when the scamp lifted three purses from his unsuspecting targets while everyone was distracted. The boy and his family would eat well this night.
Even that small display of rebellion failed to raise his spirits.
“What about the rumours circulating about Honor Beaumont? If you expect her to go about in company knowing full well what people are saying behind her back, you ask too much of her.”
“We are in the last week of November, Vidal, and I particularly want your friends.” He paused. “All of them, to attend Lord and Lady Kringle's ball.”
“What on earth is so important about my uncle's ball?” He vaguely remembered his cousin mentioning the event the night before he had sailed for Gibraltar. He'd assumed it would be a family affair, but now gathered the ball promised to become the squeeze of the Season.
“The last time I made a promise to you, I broke itâ”
“Hardly⦔
“This time.” Dumas ignored the interruption. “I will ensure Reeve and the inside man at Whitehall, Hepworth, account for their actions. Make sure your friends go about as much as possible, starting the moment they arrive in town. That will be all. I'll see you here next week.”
* * * *
Second week in December 1812
“Oh, look at that bonnet! I have never seen such a shade of green before.” Consuela surged forward with the intention of entering the premises.
“I refuse to carry another box for you Consuela, and I declare nor can you, your arms are so full. Our footman cannot manage another item without dropping what he is already carrying.”
She clutched at the top box of those she carried when someone jostled her almost onto the street in front of a pair of grey horses. Without a thought for her trophies Consuela grabbed her arm and pulled Honor to safety with seconds to spare.
“What a careless man!” Consuela cried. “Indeed you might have been killed if I had not caught you.”
Honor could only agree, the silhouette of a man hidden within the shadows of his coach and his piercing blue eyes glaring down at her plaguing her mind. “Yes indeed, I hope you have not spoiled your new shawl and those lovely slippers.”
“Oh! What do they matter? I swear if the streets of Madrid are as busy as London, I wonder why I ever wanted to go there.”
“And yet only a few days ago, you could not wait to arrive in London. What a come-about, to be sure.” As her shock dissolved, Honor's sense of humour returned. “I do believe we deserve a hot chocolate and one of those delightful lemon pastries you are so fond of. How fortunate we are not far from your favourite
patisserie
.”
“Do you think Lord Vidal knew his mother intended to invite us to stay with her while we are in London?” Consuela asked as Honor pushed the cup of hot chocolate across the table.
“It is a possibility, but I don't think he intended for her to do so. After all he promised to rent a house for us.”
“I'm glad he didn't. It is delightful to stay with her grace. Even though she does not allow you to dance.” She riffled through the latest pile of invitations. “I declare you have more followers than I do. It is wonderful to have her chaperone us both to all the balls and parties and the morning visits. I declare I do not remember the names of half the people we have been introduced to.”
“I'm sure you remember the names of all the gentlemen callers you have received in the two weeks we have been in London. If you are not careful you'll lose Juan.”
“He is not jealous of me,” Consuela dismissed too quickly. “And you have your fair share. His grace came up with a wonderful idea for your partners to fill your dance card and then sit with you instead of dancing. That was so clever. As for Juan, he is concerned lest I forget my position as a widow. But I think I shall enjoy myself while I can, for I believe I look forward to sharing a marriage bed again some day. You know, it was not good for me before, but Juan once told me it is not always like that between a man and a woman.” Consuela's eyes darkened with anxiety. “Was it good for you?”
Casting an embarrassed glance round at the other occupants of the patisserie, she nodded, and gulped down the chocolate in her cup. Like Consuela, Honor wished to share a marriage bed again, but only one man would do. And while Vidal had declared his love for her he could not offer a formal proposal for several months and by thenâ¦. Even if Vidal ignore protocol and asked her to wed him how could she accept? She may want to say "yes" but wouldn't fool herself. The reality of the situation meant Vidal would become a social outcast if he declared himself openly and she ended up on Tyburn hill.
His insistence they accept every invitation received and not refrain from being seen about town troubled her. No one cut her directly but she was aware of the glances cast in her direction, the abrupt end to conversations when she entered a room, and the whispering behind raised fans when she danced with every partner who sought her hand.
“You did not get your Christmas gift for Lord Vidal.” Consuela's observation cut across her musings. “Did you forget?”
“No, I did not.” Honor pushed her lemon cake around her plate. “I find I cannot settle on anything I have seen so far.”
“You have not bought any of the brushes and paints you said you wanted, either.”
“I think we have enough to carry home, don't you?” The buzz of conversation and warmth of the chocolate mingling with Consuela's enjoyment warmed Honor's heart. “If you are finished I think we had better gather up our parcels and make our way home in time for lunch.”
