“Yes, well, to put your mind somewhat at ease, I met him in front of Gunter’s Tea Shop. No one saw me but Jonas. Easton stepped into the coach, and we talked.”
Grace seemed genuinely distressed by that revelation, judging by how she buried her face in her hands. Honor tried to soothe her by stroking her hair. “I don’t see another option for us, dearest.”
“You must have a care for your reputation, which, I might point out, has already been suspect on several occasions.” Grace lifted her head to arch a golden brow high above the other, daring Honor to challenge that.
“I’ve not been that bad,” Honor muttered.
“Can you imagine the talk that would gust like winter winds around this square if anyone were to see you?”
“I am acutely aware.” Honor knew she was too impetuous for her own good. She had no desire to see her reputation ruined, and she understood Grace’s concern.
“Never mind all that, then, you’ve gone and done it.” Grace suddenly twisted around to face her “Well? What did he say?”
Honor smiled slyly at her sister. “He said that I was reprehensible.”
Grace gasped.
“But that he would consider it.”
Her sister didn’t breathe for a moment. “What? He will?”
“I will know on the morrow.” Honor stood up and began to unbutton her spencer. “If he agrees, he shall call here.”
“Here! That’s all well and good for outsiders, but what will Augustine think?”
“Grace, calm yourself. Augustine can think of nothing but his nuptials. I asked Mr. Easton to call at half past two, when the girls are in their studies and Augustine is out at his club for the day.”
Grace looked set to argue, but the sound of a painful racking cough drifted down the hallway to them; they both paused. A moment later, they heard their mother’s steps hurrying in that direction.
Grace sank back onto the chaise. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” she asked morosely, referring to the deteriorating health of the earl.
“I think so,” Honor agreed.
“Your plan is utter madness, you know.”
“That is the kindest thing you might say for it,” Honor said, and squeezed in next to her sister, nudging her with her shoulder. “But at least it’s diverting madness.”
Grace smiled ruefully. “I fear you are far beyond hope.”
“Not at all, dearest—I am absolutely bursting with hope,” Honor said. A movement caught Honor’s eye; she sat up and turned toward the door. Her mother was standing in the opening, staring into the room.
“Mamma?” Honor said, coming to her feet. “Is something wrong?”
Lady Beckington frowned slightly.
“Mamma,” Honor said again, moving to her mother’s side. “Did you mean to see to the earl?”
“Oh, Honor,” her mother said, her relief clearly evident. “You’re home! Yes, the earl is unwell. I should see to him,” she said, and squeezed Honor’s hand affectionately as she turned and hurried down the hall to the earl’s rooms.
Honor looked back at Grace. “I don’t understand it. Not a quarter of an hour ago she was perfectly all right.”
“We should have Dr. Cardigan come,” Grace suggested.
“And risk the ton knowing before the earl is even gone? Dr. Cardigan sees every old biddy in Mayfair! We can’t, Grace. Not until we absolutely must.”
It was heartbreaking to watch a beloved mother slide ever so softly into senility. Joan Devereaux, so charmingly clever—Honor could not think of a single person who had a poor opinion of her. She’d been amazingly resourceful, too—she’d known how to navigate a ballroom better than anyone, and had managed to keep her daughters well after her husband had died. Honor had been only eleven years old, but she could recall her mother taking two old gowns to a friend, and together, they’d created a stunning ball gown. Her mother had donned it and gone off to a grand ball and the next morning had gathered her four daughters in her bed and told them about the Earl of Beckington.
It was necessity that had driven her mother to seek the earl’s attentions, but Honor truly believed that her mother had come to care very much for the older earl. Certainly no one in Mayfair would blame Lady Beckington if she left the earl’s care to a nurse, but she’d refused to do so. She saw to him every day.
The sound of the earl’s racking coughs reached them again. “I’ll go and help her,” Grace said, and stood from the chaise to go. At the door, however, she glanced back at her sister. “Do have a care, Honor. You are playing a very dangerous game.”
“I will,” Honor promised.
Later, Honor would recall that moment with Grace and her easy promise. She hadn’t believed George Easton would really come to Beckington House.
But he did.
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